#every day this concept that my brain strung together in the time it took for me to read half of the desc fucking haunts me

[jellyfishvibes]

Weird thing but, I was scrolling ao3 and saw this fic desc

(link, with the note that I haven't read it and dunno where it goes)

My immediate thought about the story was that it was about Bruce getting stuck in the ancient past somehow and he builds a puzzle that he knows that only Tim Drake can solve, so Tim, within this new history steps up to this ancient alien puzzle like some kind of coming of age ceremony and he's the first person to crack it

And the first thing that comes out of it is that line

"Robin, Are you in position?"

Because he knows that when it's cracked that it will be Robin that cracks it, he's in position to solve this and save Batman before he ever meets him based on the faith Batman has in him in the future

That fic is not that at all I discovered, I interpreted the desc very wrong, but now you all need to know cause I can't stop thinking about this imagined fic that will probably never exist cause lord knows I can't write it

[alfredosauce50]

Method to my madness [Yandere! Switzerland x reader]

Word count: 4,144 Warning: NSFW content later in the fic. There will be a warning line before it starts, and another line to indicate its conclusion. So skip it if you don’t want to read it.

Synopsis: As a stereotypical Swiss, he never did anything unplanned and worshipped punctuality. But when it comes to you, he’d throw that all away and show up to your door unannounced. In another country. And in the middle of the school term. Why? Because he can. Because he doesn’t trust your neighbors, your raunchy one in particular. He was the polar opposite to him—lazy, sloppy, and disorganized. So when he tries to invite you to a party, Basch makes it a point to stop you from going—even if that entails doing exactly what he accused him of. The reader is referred to as she/her.

Crunching numbers occurred to him like second nature. Anything that could be explained in a book, he understood like the back of his hand. In fact, he didn’t have much trouble doing anything at all, but when it came to you, every fiber of his being would clam up. His infallible logic betrayed him like he never had any in the first place. Now was one of those times as he boarded a flight bound for California. 

As he made himself comfortable in his seat, he gave the passengers around him a quick study. Already, they were stripping themselves of their outer layers. Windbreakers, jackets, coats, you name it. A middle-aged man removed his hoodie to reveal a T-shirt underneath, and with big, bold letters spelled ‘USA’, which popped out around his belly as if to emphasize it. A single thought occurred to him as he looked away with furrowed brows. Tourists.

They had their fun, and were on their way home, starting with preparing for the sweltering heat of Californian Summer. He folded his arms together and sank into his chair. He’d remove his knit later. At the moment, he had a more pressing issue in his hands. What was he supposed to say when he’d show up at your door without notice? 

Hi, I felt a dire need to visit you all the way in America in the middle of your semester when I heard you were living in a dorm. But that’s not all. It would’ve been fine until you sent me a selfie with a guy in the background holding a peace sign. Then that other photo showing a different guy using your toaster. Which implies that there are numerous guys living with you. In other words, people I don’t trust alone with you. 

So here I am. 

Surely, that wouldn’t fly. 

You’d known him as a man who had his whole life planned out in a diary. And this was hardly planned. It was spontaneous, even. Basch Zwingli, the stereotypical Swiss who looked at the clock for things to do, was being spontaneous? Hell may as well freeze over at this point. To say this would surprise you was given, but he didn’t see anything wrong with this, per se. He probably would’ve done this to Lilli, but the thing was, he wouldn’t have ever let her study abroad by herself in the first place. 

She was his baby sister, but you weren’t. And that was probably why he was at your doorstep. He couldn’t oppose your choice of study, but he could sure as hell be part of it. 

He knocked a few times. He could barely make out the faint ‘just a second!’, but the sound of the voice was so familiar, he froze up. But that wasn’t quite right. Hearing Lilli’s voice never made him feel this way. The door creaked open to reveal a less than presentable girl in her pajamas, an oversized shirt, and she had the messy bed hair to go with it. 

And when you saw who your visitor was, the droop in your eyes disappeared. 

“Basch!? Oh my god--what are you--” You could barely talk as disbelieving laughs fell from your lips. “I can’t believe it’s you! I almost couldn’t recognize your face because I didn’t expect you at all!” Reaching out to give him a tight embrace, he returned the gesture with a gentler hug. 

His arms were slow to wrap around your form, but to even have your affection reciprocated at all spoke volumes of how he was feeling. It had been nearly half a year since he saw you last, and to realize he was spoiling himself with an unannounced visit sent chills down his spine. He really was pushing the envelope with this one. But he had a gut feeling he wouldn’t regret this at all. 

When you pulled away, he caught you gleaming at him with the brightest of smiles. It was so infectious, he felt a light tugging at his lips. “Well, I’m here if that convinces you.”  

You grinned. “What are you even doing here? My break doesn’t start until a month later! But I can say this is a good time you caught me in. I only have one more final to pull through.” Pulling him into your humble abode, you barely made it into the hallway when you failed to hear the sound of wheels. So you paused. “... Basch, where’s your stuff?” 

Confusion contorted at your expression, but you looked more worried than anything. It would’ve made sense if he was planning to stay at a hotel, but that wasn’t possible. He’d rather sleep on the ground than spend hundreds of dollars for accommodation, and what was the point of visiting if he wasn’t under the same roof as you? He tensed up as he confronted how truly out of character he’d been acting. 

Shit. Even he was shocked that he failed to bring the most fundamental of things for this trip. When he bought his ticket, nothing went through his mind besides the need to see you. It took up so much of his brain, it managed to block out the concept of a suitcase. Packing for a trip that was to last for months. How was he supposed to explain himself? “... They lost my suitcase on the way here.” Perfect. 

Your lips formed an ‘o’ shape as you nodded in understanding. “Ah, that’s too bad. I’m sure they’ll find it for you, though. Otherwise, they’re gonna have one hell of a lawsuit.” 

“... But where’s Lilli?”  

Why was his sister not with him when they were practically sewed together by the hip? And for such an important visit, no less. But he came prepared in case you’d ask. “Lilli’s not here because she had school. And I saw that tickets were the cheapest during this time so I decided to come early.” 

At the sound of that, any traces of worry left your face and you burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Of course you did, you cheapskate. I was always wondering which trait of yours was the strongest, but now I know.” Blood rushed up to his cheeks and he forced himself to look away. But when he felt your hands settle on his shoulders, he slowly turned to you. He didn’t even know if he was supposed to regret that action, because in that very second, he realized he was wrapped around your finger. 

“I’m just kidding, Basch. There’s nothing wrong with saving money. And if that means you get to visit early, I’ll love you for it.” You cracked a tender smile at him this time around, and seeing that look on your face while listening to you talk had him wondering if he was even breathing at that point. 

It was almost terrifying how easily he could lose his head around you. And he thought he had a good one on his shoulders. Everyone did. How come he could barely even think straight when it came to you?   

“... Right.” He tipped his head forward to let his bangs fall in front of his face. It was a gesture that was almost shy in nature, but his action revealed a small ponytail on the back of his head, which of course, stole your attention away in an instant. 

You gasped to emphasize the discovery. “Aw, did you tie your hair up? It looks so good! Everyone’s gonna be asking about you now!” Giving him a teasing elbow, you watched his expression morph into dismay. “Hey, I promise it’s a good kind of curiosity. College has us all swarmed and we’re dying for something out of the ordinary. My friends will be excited to meet you!” 

“Why, because I’m… European?” 

“Are you asking that because I complimented your hair?” He heard a soft snort from you. “I’m from the same town as you, dummy. I think I’d count as European as well. But that’s probably what they’ll be so interested about.” That was right. “If they find out about you, they won’t stop asking about if we’re… You know what.” Your voice strained a little and you looked embarrassed, even.

He blinked. For someone so high-strung about you, he could sometimes miss the key points. 

“I’m having a hard time following. About what?” 

You sighed and pushed his cheeks together to muffle his words. “Why do you always have to make me say everything, hm? They’ll obviously ask if we’re dating. You’ve never met them because they always go elsewhere during the break, but everyone will be here this time.” 

By everyone, he assumed that included peace-sign guy and toaster-leeching guy. Immediately, he frowned with the most potent kind of disdain he ever felt. To think they spent most of the year with you was almost disheartening. But he didn’t need to remind himself they were the reason he was here. Basch could admit he was an oblivious person at times, but he wasn’t ignorant to the promiscuous sex life in college. The men here were wolves, so he had to see for himself if he could really leave you alone here. 

But he had a feeling he wouldn’t be leaving your side anytime soon. 

If that was going to give your friends the wrong idea, or perhaps, the right idea about you two, then so be it. He even wanted them to assume things. Even if he didn’t think much of it, flying all the way here for an impromptu visit was more than enough to get mouths moving. 

He had yet to be on the same page as them. To realize that maybe, what he was doing wasn’t because you were like a little sister to him--like Lilli--someone to be protected. Or rather, someone he had strong feelings for. But given enough time around these so-called friends of yours, he’d learn it the hard way. And who better to press his buttons than your raunchy next-door neighbor? 

The day after his unexpected arrival, he’d encounter this very neighbor who found the leisure in swinging by for a visit. Basch had his hands full with dishes in the sink when a few knocks were heard. He was generous enough to make lunch and clean up, though you had to wonder if doing chores was how he’d repay the debt from all the things you had to buy for him. 

He never moved from where he stood as he could already hear you scrambling to answer the door. When it creaked open, a low and playful laugh greeted you. “There’s my girl.” My what now? Turning his head to the newcomer, he felt a pang of annoyance when he saw a man lean in from the doorframe. Said man reached out to give your hair an affectionate ruffle, and immediately, Basch decided he didn’t like him. 

“Mornin’. Did ya eat yet? I was gonna go to a cafe for some grub. The one that has those killer vegan pancakes. Wanna come with?” 

You hummed in disappointment. “Sorry, Al. I just ate. Maybe if you came in a little earlier, I would’ve been able to come.” Placing your hands on your hips, you placed emphasis on what you later added. “It’s two.” 

No, he hated him. From that brief exchange and study of his physical appearance, he knew he was practically the polar opposite of him. A lazy,  good-for-nothing slob. He had two full sleeves of tattoos. Piercings decorated one of his eyebrows, and as he spoke, he saw a small silver ball on his tongue. His fiery red hair wasn’t even long, but it was still unkempt as if he just rolled out of bed and didn’t bother checking the mirror. But then again, he did greet you with ‘morning’. Basch tightened his ponytail and made his way over to you, disgruntled. “...”

Sensing his presence by your side, you patted him on the back. “This is Basch, by the way. The friend I told you about.” When you exchanged looks with Basch, your smile faltered when you saw his expression. He looked almost upset, though you hadn’t the faintest idea why. 

You figured you’d ask later. 

The stranger was fast to acknowledge him, and with great enthusiasm at that. “Ohh, you’re the dude who flew over from Finland or something!” His striking ruby eyes widened with fascination, and he was grinning from ear to ear. “Wow, you’re pretty high-strung bout’ her, aren’t you? Makes the two of us.”  

High-strung about you? Of course, he was--whatever the hell that meant. “... Switzerland.” The blonde clarified, to where Allen merely shrugged. “Close enough.” 

While you laughed off his playful jibes and apparent forgetfulness, Basch couldn’t humor him. Between him and your neighbor, they were probably completely serious about the high-strung bit. He could tell in that brief side-eye Allen gave him, almost as if he was trying to stir some kind of reaction. 

So be it. Two could play at this game. Unbeknownst to your raunchy friend, Basch could be just as outspoken. 

“Anyways--” Rolling his head to you, Allen shot you an expectant look. “So… What’s your answer, doll? To the party this Friday? Is it a yes or a yes?” 

“She’s not going.”

Your lips separated agape to answer, but he beat you to it. His invitation was shot down just like that. Shock widened your eyes and you gawked at Basch. You knew how protective he could get, exceedingly so, but it never got to the point of canceling plans without discussion. 

“What do you mean, I’m not going? Basch, it’s fine!” You exasperated, but his only response was to squeeze your hand. 

Something was wrong, for sure. 

“... Yeah, it’s not like anything‘s gonna happen. Not when I’m around. So what’s the big idea, man?” Allen folded his arms disapprovingly. A shrewd light glinted in his eyes when he was struck with an idea. “If you’re so worried, you can just come with. Even though you’re not her boyfriend—”

Basch felt himself go red in the face. From both anger and mortification—because Allen was right. 

“... Fine. I will go with her.” He relented, albeit reluctantly. Hardening his stare at the tanned figure, someone who sounded more persistent than he liked, he let his tongue slip. “And it doesn’t matter I’m not her boyfriend. I’m still her best friend, and I care about her more than you do.”

It was a given from how long you’ve been this close to him. But that didn’t change the fact blurting that out was unlike him. It left you in a blushing tizzy to hear him explicitly say those things, and you grew hyper-aware of his iron grip on your hand. 

Being protective was one thing. But when was he possessive? 

Allen laughed. “Yeah, yeah. You can flex that label all you want.” Making a move to leave by turning his feet, his lips curled up into a mischievous smirk. “I don’t want it. Not when a better label’s up for grabs. Boyfriend. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Shooting you a wink to reduce you into a stuttering mess, he took his leave. 

And when he did, Basch lost his shit. 

“How long have you been friends with that guy? Can’t you see he’s just trying to get into your pants? He’ll probably stop being so nice to you once he does!” He fumed, taking both your hands into his as if to secure you in place. But really, you weren’t going anywhere. Not when you were about to receive the biggest lecture of your life. “You can’t hang around people like that, (F/N). You can’t trust him.”

You hung your head as a frown downturned your features. There was some truth to his words, especially when the man he spoke so ill of was a fairly new friend of yours. It was a shame to say the least because you did like having him around, but that wasn’t the biggest concern of yours at the moment. “You’re right… Kinda… I just really liked him as a friend, so I didn’t wanna say no…”

That didn’t come out right.

He thinned his lips as a grim expression contorted at his face. “... Did he do anything to you?”

You shook your head profusely. “No! God, no, of course not! Sorry, I put it weirdly. Nothing happened, really.”

Basch sighed, reaching out to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

His bangs fell over his eyes to hide them. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this worked up over you, over a guy at that, but then again, he was beginning to suspect there was a little more to it than that. “... Okay. So are you gonna go to the party?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll probably go if you come with me, so…” With your free hand, you held onto the hem of his shirt. When he caught sight of the look you had on your face, he stopped breathing all over again. “I can tell something’s wrong with you. You looked really upset just then, and it’s not like you to just snap like that.”

He released you to dig through his hair, loosening the once tight strands pulled back in his ponytail. 

That was right. Since when was he so possessive? 

So jealous? 

He bit his lip and looked positively defeated. As he fixated on the ground to avoid your gaze, he felt your hand gently cup his cheek, forcing him to look up at you. “It’s not like you to suddenly show up out of the blue, either. So tell me, why did you actually come here?”

Basch furrowed his brows and screwed his eyes shut. “... I don’t know. I just wanted to see you. That’s all.” You softened your gaze at that, feeling your chest swell up with warmth. He was always brutally honest, but he was more ambiguous when it came to how he felt. 

So to hear him admit his troubles so easily had you almost worried about him.

As if he sensed this worry, he offered you a small smile of reassurance. 

“Don’t worry about me. I swear there’s nothing wrong.”

Or that was what he wished, at least, because he was far from okay. 

To make things worse, Allen wasn’t patient enough for today because he dropped by two more times after meeting Basch for the first time. Nearly a week had passed since then. This only proved his suspicions—that all he wanted was to get in your pants—and it left Basch positively restless. So restless that he couldn’t leave you alone.

It was finally Friday, and you were in your room browsing for outfits for the night. The man was sleeping like a log in your bed, and after a few unsuccessful attempts at waking him up, you decided to change with him in the room. How he ended up in your sheets wasn’t anything out of character, per se. 

In the previous few days, he followed you around everywhere you went. That, you were perfectly fine with, but sleeping in your bed? He was pushing it. Despite your valiant efforts to get him back into the guest room, it was unparalleled to his own determination. What could you say? He was as stubborn as a mule. That statement would manifest into reality as he stirred awake. 

Sitting up with the worst bed hair you’d ever seen, you found yourself covering your chest instinctively as he stared dead into your eyes with his own drooping ones. “Basch! Sorry, um, I couldn’t wake you so I decided to just…” Blood rushed up to your cheeks as he continued to stare, wordlessly. “Basch?” 

You watched him slide off the mattress and saunter over. Holding your wrists and lowering them, he exposed your bra, but he never gave you the chance to complain. Instead, he loomed his head over yours and glowered at you. “You’re not going.” 

Goosebumps pricked all over your skin when his hot breath fanned over your lips, and you were much too taken aback by his closeness to object. In fact, his face was so close, his nose was brushing against yours. “Wait, what are you--” Your whispers were cut off abruptly when he sealed your mouth with his. 

He was kissing you. Albeit innocently as he parted frequently, pecking your lips over and over again. As gentle as he was, he still left you breathless, but flustered and confused all the same. But you didn’t have the heart to push him off you as your mind raced with questions. Why was he doing this? Had he always felt this way? There was a tenderness in his touch that told you he had. 

But why didn’t he ever tell you? 

When he finally parted, he kept his forehead pressed against yours. “Just tell him you’re not interested.” He frowned. “Say you already have a boyfriend. I’ll pretend if I have to.”  

Because he’d been denying it. 

“But--” Basch kissed you again, leaving a silvery strand of saliva connecting your lips as he parted. Your chest was rising and falling in a fervent manner as you struggled to breathe--the same plight he’d been facing for a while. Frankly speaking, you were at a loss from how much control you let him have over you. But you never tried to push him away. At this point, the throbbing in your chest had completely shattered your resolve. “--why are you kissing me if we’re pretending? There’s nobody here but us.” 

His cheeks reddened before he tugged you along to your bed. Seating you on his lap, he attached his hands to your waist and squeezed it, making you yelp out in surprise. “If you’re letting me kiss you, then how are we pretending?” You blushed at that, realizing you had just as much of a part to blame. 

Leaning in at that, he fanned his breath over your lips. “It just means it’s real.” 

He still wasn’t processing the weight of his actions and just how out of line he was acting. But then again, he never did either of those things when it came to you. And it wasn’t like you were stopping him, either. So really, you were just as guilty for letting things go out of hand. Though you had to wonder if this was how things were supposed to be, especially when you continued kissing him in his lap.

*NSFW content ahead*

Said kissing escalated along with the heat of your bodies, all until he had his tongue in your mouth. 

He never realized how much he’d wanted this until he had you under him, squeezing his neck as he left lovebites all over yours. Then, he made his way down to your shoulder and collarbones, chewing on your flesh until he memorized the taste of you. But he couldn’t say he was satisfied. Not until he truly crossed your boundaries and went all the way. 

That was where this was going, after all.

Rather than going to that party Allen invited you to, you spent the whole night having sex with Basch. To say it was a psychedelic experience was an understatement.

As he held you down to make love to you, letting his arousal curve deep into your walls at every strong thrust he gave, he had you writhing in pleasure so good, the last remnants of your sound mind were completely destroyed. So while you would’ve been fussing about the fact he didn’t use any protection, you couldn’t, not when he fucked you silly.

To him, this was a culmination of everything he wanted. To have you for himself. And this rampant desire was so potent, it inundated him. Tugging apart the strands that held his self-control and reason together, he lost his head. 

You never imagined he’d be so energetic and reckless in bed, even cumming inside you, twice, on purpose, when he was always so high-strung about safety. But as you found yourself on his thighs again, trembling as you sunk down to the base of his cock, you could watch him unravel with all sorts of animated expressions you’d never seen before. 

Desperation, lust, and an aggressive infatuation as he bounced you on his imposing member. Bringing you close so he could bite your ear, you could hear the shivering in his breathing as he held back his moans. “You drive me so fucking crazy sometimes...” He whispered. 

*NSFW content ends*

That was the first time you ever heard him curse, too. So maybe, you really were driving him crazy. This would become more apparent the next morning as he slept in past noon, something he hadn’t done in years. 

And depending on if you’d remember or not, he’d buy you some morning-after pills. 

Because something happening wasn’t a big concern of his. 

In fact, it excited him.

[hermit-pistol]

Leone Abbacchio Fluff Alphabet:

And with that, the 600 follower special is concluded! I know that they took me forever to finish but I hope that you enjoyed reading them! Please like and reblog to show love, and read some Abbacchio fluff under the cut:

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Abbacchio enjoys the simplicity of doing nothing and going nowhere. Honestly, some of his favorite activities that you do together take place in the courtesy of your own home. Don't get it twisted though, he still will take you out for the occasional meal and show you a good time!

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He admires your ability to stay calm. Other people he has known in the past would tend to annoy him with how high strung they were. He much rather prefers a partner that he can sit in comfortable silence with, and can just go with the flow of everything.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Abbacchio, to be fair, has had his own fair share of emotional baggage, so he knows what you're experiencing all too well. Thankfully, he also knows how to overcome the situation when these feelings grow to be too much. He'll whisper words and phrases of affirmation, assuring them that everything will be okay and that he will always be there for them.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

His vision of the future is very uncertain, and in all fairness, he couldn't even believe that he'd made it this far in his life. His previous career as an officer and currently being in the mafia were certainly not considered "safe" jobs. He does want a future with you though, no matter how risky the job. He just won't think too far ahead.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Abbacchio is very passive aggressive. He'll be very lenient when it comes to making decisions in the relationship but can obviously step it up if needed. Most of the decision making will be in the hands of his partner for sure.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

He bottles things up until they explode at the surface. He'll yell and most likely something will come out harsher than intended, this ends up with him being in a position where he has some serious explaining to do. Things will work out eventually, but things might be rough for a while.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He loves you for showing him that living wasn't all that bad to begin with. Life hasn't been very kind to him and you know that. When he's having very low moments, you remind him of his team and you who both love him very much. You are one of the only reasons that he keeps on going.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Getting Abbacchio to open up and speak about the things that he's experienced in this lifetime will take a lot of coaxing and convincing. In time, he'll tell you when he's ready, but for a good while he'll be very selective with what he wants to share with you. Only when the time comes and he feels that you're worthy of knowing will he come clean. Be ready.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

He has a hard time seeing the positives of a situation, and before he met you, he was truly unhappy with his life. It took him so many years to learn that seeing things from a different, more optimistic point of view really made a huge difference. He thanks you for opening him up to new experiences.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Abbacchio does not mess around when it comes to you getting attention from other people. He may appear passive at first, but he’s had an eye on the two of you this whole time, don’t worry. If things get out of hand, he’ll just drag you out of there so fast you won’t even have time to process what just happened.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Abbacchio is a very rough kisser, to the point where you have to remind him not to leave marks on your lips. There's a time and a place for everything, but it takes some reminders to let him know that a simple showing of affection shouldn't result in your face being all but ripped off. Other than that, he's got quite the natural talent.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

The funny thing that sets Abbacchio apart from the others is that he won't outright tell you that he loves you. He very much so believes in the concept of tough love, and even though he can be unbearable at some points, it's very rarely that he verbally expresses that he loves you. It's rather expressed in the actions that he does.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He's going to wait for ages until he pops the question, so long in fact that you had thought about proposing to him just to get it over with. He'll ask for the help of his team to put the wedding together since he doesn't have much to work with in terms of family. When it's all said and done, he'll totally have to fight the urge to break down into tears when he sees you walking down the aisle. You just look so beautiful!

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Abbaccchio really doesn't need nicknames, unless you ask him to call you something specific. If not, he's content with referring to you by your name. After all, it is the most sincere form of flattery as they say.😳

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Only a few people can tell that something is up with Abbacchio (mainly, Bruno and Fugo) and once they figure out what's going on with their teammate they can't help but smile. They'll leave teasing out of it because they know that the others might go too far, but whenever you enter a room they share a knowing glance as they watch him clam up on the spot.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He's not very fond of showing his affection in public, and sometimes this really gets on your nerves. There are times where he doesn't even feel comfortable holding hands with you, but you try to respect his wishes. You know that he's just a little awkward and shy when it comes to these things and that his actions in the outside world are completely different compared to when you share alone time.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

(I know this might be one you guys have heard of before but it can't leave my brain so-) Abbacchio can sing, and he can sing quite well. But he will never do so in front of people, and even in front of you. The only times that you can hear him is when he thinks that you have left for the store and sneaks into the bathroom. One time you had your ear pressed against the door so hard that it accidentally opened. He was holding a hairbrush like a microphone and was less than pleased that you had found him.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

It may not seem like it, but Abbacchio can be quite romantic. When the two of you are alone he might offer to give you a massage or might shower you in kisses of his own accord. Both of those might end up leading to something else, of course ;)

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

He will always make sure to make sure that you have complete confidence in whatever you decide to pursue. If you succeed, then he will be the proudest man you've ever seen. Even if you experience some shortcomings he'll encourage you to keep trying and re-adjust your goals so they can be more attainable.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Abbacchio doesn't really come across as the type of person that's spontaneous. While he doesn't like surprises, whenever he does have a nice gesture planned he wants to make sure that you're prepared for (possibly) one of the best days of your life. He hypes it up in subtle ways like "Pack your bags" and "Make sure to bring your swimsuit". 😉

U nderstanding - How well do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Don't let his emotional unavailability at times fool you, for he can understand your emotions quite well. He'll pay attention to details that could decipher your moods, like the slam of a door or heavy sighs as you shuffle your feet into the living room. Of course, he'll ask you how to make you feel better, but he secretly prides himself on his awareness when it comes to you.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Abbacchio isn't the best at maintaining relationships with people, unless they're very special to him. You are easily one of the best things that's ever happened to him, and if you weren't in his life he'd be extra grumpy and then some. You are his rock, and he cherishes you every single day the two of you are together.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

When the two of you aren't busy, you insist on having a "couple's night" which consists of watching a movie together. He’s a bit of a “fun killer” when it comes to having a movie night, turning down almost every idea and suggestion that you have. You eventually decide on a basic horror movie, with Abbacchio grumbling through it the whole time. He does enjoy when you cling to him during the scary parts, though.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Abbacchio can be affectionate when he wants to be (only when you’re ALONE). There are times when he doesn't want to be in the same room as you, and then others when he's clinging to you no matter how hard you try to escape. Catch him in a good mood and he'll even nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Whenever you've been away for a bit, Abbacchio will seemingly be unfazed by your lack of presence, almost to the point where it bothers you. Your man really doesn't show that many emotions, huh. When you walk through the door; however, he'll be there in the doorway ready to greet you and wrap you in a giant hug. You smile, knowing that he secretly missed you after all.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

He's not the type of guy to give gifts or do anything extravagant outside of special occasions. If you're having a bad day he will bring you dinner and listen to you vent. If you're the one, he's willing to go the extra mile in maintaining the relationship and wanting to keep you as happy as possible.

[shishinoya]

the mistake of loving you || k.t

—  PAIRING  || Kageyama Tobio X Reader —  TYPE  || Story [Cheese Cult Hanahaki Event] —  WARNING  || Pure Angst —  WORD COUNT  || 3.2k words —  AUTHOR’S NOTE  || aucbaosn so i basically took 5 days to write this and it’s one of my chonkiest fics i’ve written. ;;;; i wanna thank @cupofkenma​, @kawanisshi​, and @haikkeiji​ for beta reading my 5am writing <33 i love you all aiscbasnc

i also didnt mention the flower that kags was coughing up and it’s the [Delphinium grandiflorum] flower or “Summer Blues” || they are used as symbols of hope and tranquility and i used them because they show the hope kags has for the reader, the hope that they will return his love

“Love is such a beautiful feeling!”

“Oh, you haven’t lived yet if you’ve never fallen in love.”

“I can’t wait to fall in love.”

Love? Love sounded so unfamiliar, so distant. Like a foreign country, Kageyama understood their way of living, he knew the name, he recognized the language, but he never fully experienced the culture. The descriptions that frolicked and slipped their way from the mouths of peers, were overlooked and watered out. He could care less about something that others dreamed of - his own blinding the ability to sympathize with them. Love just seemed like a bundle of letters, strung together and people used it to label an emotion. He had no use for the sentiment; it was a waste of his energy. His effort. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. He pushed it aside. He couldn’t strap onto the idea of love. 

If love was something that everyone craved for, why isn’t everyone in love? Why did some chase after it as if it held jewels and the answers to every question in the world, while others loathed the sight of it. Kageyama kicked a pebble on the side of the road as he thought about the concept once again. He detested its mention but when virtually everyone talked about how thrilling it was, it was hard to stay indifferent. Gazing at the lush green hills, he nibbled on the plastic straw that was already brutally bitten. The lukewarm liquid trickled down his throat as he carried out his trek. He didn’t have a plan, nor a specific place to go, but he was going. He basked in the rays of the sun, occasionally placing a hand on the heated brick wall that stood tall and shielded him from the gusts of wind. He should be practicing, not wondering about a useless emotion. But the mind simply doesn’t work like that.

Turning a corner, he clicked his tongue when he realized he ran out of milk and only air was exiting the straw. A scowl drew itself on his already frowning face. With a grumble and brows furrowed, he threw away the box, only to shove his hands into his pockets. The sun was out but it wasn’t shining in Kageyama’s world. 

His walk skidded to a stop when a bold colour struck his eye. Strange. He glanced further, head tilted with curiosity. His eyes raked over the golden petals, the rich green stem. The honey-toned flower was only one of the many different colours painting his vision. Plants of various sizes, height, hues, were all beautifully decorated behind the white picket fence. He loomed over the edge, trying to get a closer view of the scene. How funny that a simple plant, that had no voice nor opinions, was able to entice him into noticing its beauty. His eyes darted from one to the next, quickly analyzing each flower, but then he caught onto something more than a plant, more than just velvet leaves. Something that made his breath hitch and shook his body. Something that stilled his quick eyes.

You should have seen the way he stared at you; as if you were something so unreal, something he’d never even imagined. He could watch all day at the way your hair danced to the tune of the wind. He gaped as your skin glistened at the touch of the sun. Everything about you was breathtaking. From the way you pushed loose strands away from your face, damp from the long hours under the heat, to how you poured the watering can, with grace and care. His throat became dry. He hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath until he felt a throb in his chest. Was it his lungs or was it his heart? 

“Are you going to keep standing there? The plants kinda need the sunlight.” He sighed at the sound of your voice. It was silvery, clear and light; soothing his ears like aloe over a wound. He replayed the tone in his mind like his favourite song, only processing the words after memorizing the colour of your voice. He flinched. His head shook, rattling his mind to think of anything but how he thought your voice was enchanting. 

“U-uh…” He stuttered, teeth clashing with his tongue. No matter how many nervous swallows he did, it was not enough to quench his desert-like mouth. Heat rose to his face, colouring it like the blush of autumn leaves.

The words fought their way from his throat, tumbling over each other, all wanting to let themselves be known by you. They lumped in his throat as he panicked to find the correct things to say. Compliments, excuses, apologies, even a simple greeting would do, so why wasn’t anything flowing?

“Hello?”

“Erm. H-hi.”

“Ah, so you do talk.” Although it was teasing, Kageyama noticed you didn’t smile. He couldn’t believe you were so close; he couldn’t believe you were talking to him. Your beauty captivated him, held his eyes in a vice and hushed any thoughts. Mesmerizing. 

But your eyes. They showed something different, something that contradicted your appearance. Compared to the glow you illuminated, your eyes were dull. Drained of colour. Tired. The dark circles under your eyes only added to the fact that you had restless nights.

“Well if you’re going to continue to stand there, you might as well help me carry those pots.” You pointed towards a stack of new caramel coloured pots. He should have followed your hand, but he was more interested in your movements. So graceful and perfect that it seemed like you practiced that one movement over and over. “I could do it myself but after five hours of pulling out weeds, my arms are a bit ti - are you even listening to me?”

“Yes!” He jolted when your eyes met his ocean-like ones. “I-I mean, yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be listening to you? You’re speaking, right? So, the right thing to do is listen.” He was repeating himself. You simply nodded without batting him an eyelash. He was making a fool of himself. “I - uh, I would love to help you out, but I got to - um, you know - uh, feed… feed my pet orange…” His voice trailed off at the last syllable. He called Hinata dumbass a lot, but maybe he was the dumbass. Without waiting for your response, he took off. Tripping over his feet and wiping his baffling sweaty hands over his track pants, he didn’t spare you a glance. His ears felt hot. Was the sun shining too hard now? It was causing his face to heat up. Was it you? Did you do this? He didn’t even touch you. How did you have the power to make him feel like this?

You quizzically watched him jog - no, stumble his way down the road.

Odd.

Why didn’t he agree to help you? You could have sworn he was captivated.

You found the male interesting. He was able to find a spot in a small corner of your mind and called it his own. You questioned it. You’ve never had a proper conversation; you don’t even know his name, and yet, you wondered about him. You lightly shook your head, mentally pulling the weed that invaded your brain. A weed that might wither in your grasp.

He shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t be thinking about him. He shouldn’t get involved with you.

But he was persistent.

Kageyama was confused. He would always look at the path he took that day; the day where he thought his eyes had been blessed. The images of the flowers would waltz their way into his head at random times. How rich they were; how bold and vibrant. It was as if he was introduced to colours for the first time all over again. The memories played like a film while he was washing dishes, going on a jog, when he was doing literally anything. The scenes of plants slow dancing, the beaming sun, you, assaulted his poor mind.

Just the thought of your hair falling slighting and framing your face, caused him to blush. He remembered how clear your skin was, practically glittering, similar to the glistening of the sun over ocean waves. Those lips. Those plump soft lips that he imagined touching, wondered how they would feel like, sound like, taste like; he wanted to experience them. Such erotic thoughts. How could he think of that when he hadn’t talked to you? He didn’t know why you were all he could think of. He didn’t understand the way you made him feel. Unknowingly, he was slowly falling into your hands. 

It all happened so quickly, so subtly. He questioned why he was teased for his distant stares or his beet-red face. He didn’t quite believe that what he was experiencing was called “love”. This was nothing to what people described it as. He didn’t expect to be constantly thinking about you, to get nervous every time your image popped in his head. No one told him his chest would feel heavy. No one told him it would be painful.

A scratch tickled his throat. He tried quietly clearing it.

The scratch turned into claws. He tried silencing them with a cough.

His throat felt like it was being pierced. Dry wheezes escaped his mouth.

He coughed and coughed, each one using more force than the previous. He coughed till he gagged, wincing at the feeling. He steadied himself, knuckles white from the strength he was gripping the edge of the sink. Panting, he stared at himself in the mirror. Pale and large beads of sweat dripping down the side of his head. Another wave washed over him and his body shook. 

He coughed, gagged, vomited. Repeated. A cycle that lasted until blood tainted his teeth and dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He looked like a mess. He felt like a mess. He was a mess.

The pool of sky blue petals, sticky and stained from his saliva and blood, served as evidence. It was more than enough to tell him.

He made a mistake. The mistake of loving you.

The petals were the beginning, just the start of his blooming love for you. They clung to his throat, littered his tongue, flooded his lungs, made it impossible for him to breathe. He was confused, scared even. What were these? Why did they hurt so much?

He searched for answers. He browsed the internet until his eyes burned and watered. His fingers stung from the many paper cuts he acquired flipping through books. But gained nothing; just a mason jar overflowing with blood-stained petals.

He turned to you. Surely you had some answers; something, even if it was just the name of the flower. Anything. And so he visited you. Of course, his heart banged on drums that echoed and surged through his entire body, but he needed explanations. Maybe he wanted to see your face again, but he was masking that fact with his goal for answers. He needed it to keep him sane; to make sure he didn’t overheat.

He came back? The puddle of water that soaked your sandals and your gaping mouth made little effort in trying to hide your surprise. Blinking several times, you tried to think of a reason why he was here, why he would come back to you. Was he going to try again, going to try and capture your love? Was he going to fail? Crash and burn just like the rest of them?

“Hello again.” You played passively. “Are you finally taking up the offer to carry those pots-”

“I have a… a question.” His voice trembled, you wondered if he knew you could hear it. He swallowed. In his hand, he held tiny blue flowers. “What - uh… what are these?”

“You came all the way here to ask me that?” Furrowing your brows, you approached him, ultimately causing him to tense. You picked the petals from his hand, ignoring the way he flinched and the visible droplets of sweat layering his palm. “Have you tried the internet?”

“I couldn’t find anything.”

“Books?”

“No, nothing.”

“And so you thought the girl who has a garden could tell you.” He looked away.

“Yeah. Basically.”

“Well, I don’t.” His expression dropped. “But,” You tested the waters. Would it be alright? Would it be okay to suggest this one little thing? “Maybe if you come back tomorrow, I will have an answer.” 

That hopeful look on his face made a strained smile appear. Hadn’t you had enough? Are you not satisfied with the number of people you’ve tormented? How many more did you want to fall for your tricks?

let him go. but he can save me. stop lying to yourself. i’m not! it’s true! you don’t deserve it. i can change. you’ve said it before and look what happened then.

Your mind and your heart played tug-o-war over your feelings for Kageyama. Although the guilt and fear bit at your legs, slit your skin, churned your stomach, you listened to your heart. You allowed him into your house. You allowed yourself to smile with him, to laugh at his jokes. You allowed him to drag you to new places, trying new restaurants and video game cafes. Your heart wanted you to be free, but your mind held you by your neck.

you let him die. i didn’t mean to! it wasn’t my fault. yes, it was. you knew his love, you knew how much he cared for you. he only cared for my looks. you know that’s not true. would you like me to remind you? no, please don’t. too late.

Your mind loved to see you suffer, to hear those sobs of agony. It loved the way you desperately tried to wipe the tears, only making the swelling worse. It showed you the first time he met you, to when he gave you that big bright smile of his. It showed you the way he looked at you as if you were the only girl in the world. It made you relive those memories - no, nightmares.

do you see his love now? … do you need another reminder? how about your next victim?

The throb of your temple could never compare to the slap you received that day. You could still feel the sting. You could still hear their cries and accusations.

“You killed her! It was you! It was all your fault! How could you let this happen? Why didn’t you notice her? She was such a sweet girl. She just wanted you to be happy and now she’s gone. She’s gone. Gone because you didn’t love her back.”

Your knees ached. Your heart wept. Your empty stomach bubbled.

i’m sorry. please... please just stop. you think sorry is going to bring them back? to fix this mess? laughable. you think that pitiful garden of yours is going to make up for their existence? you think caring for their flowers will make up for the care they had for you? what a joke.

You were a joke, something so foolish it was comical. No matter how much you convinced yourself you were caring, that you were giving back to those who lost their lives because of you, it wasn’t enough. And he was going to be another.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered. The stars freckled themselves all over the midnight sky; one even winked at you. You hummed in response.

“Why I’m allowing myself to be with you like this.” He pretended it didn’t hurt. The familiar scraping hit the back of his throat. The flowers were getting worse. They were growing, getting larger. It was harder to cough them up. They drew more blood on their way up.

“So why do you?”

“I don’t know.” Your gaze fixating on the moon, its radiance illuminating your exhausted eyes. “You shouldn’t be around me.”

“But I am.”

“Then I shouldn’t be around you.”

“Why are you?”

“I don’t know.” You repeated with a sigh. “I don’t know a lot of things, but I do know that you’ll only get hurt when you’re with me.”

“Listen (Y/N),” he shifted his position, “No one forced me to hang out with you. I did it on my own so I think I know what’s good for me and what isn’t.” You didn’t meet his eyes.

“You know I can’t love you back.” His jaw clenched at the statement. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he searched your face for some regret or restrain.

“Am I - am I not enough for you?” He breathed out the question, afraid that it was coated too much with his fears.

“It’s not that.”

“Then why can’t I be the one? Why can’t you love me back?” It wasn’t like you didn’t have an answer, but it was more like you didn’t know how to answer.

The silence was interrupted by a fit of coughs. Kageyama was gasping. He dug his nails into the ground, not caring if mud and dirt made themselves home under them. He clenched his trachea, attempting to quell the needle-like pricks. One, three, seven flowers fell from his pale lips. He coughed until his head spun. Coughed until his arms gave out. It truly felt like he was dying while living.

“Kageyama?” You didn’t care that your indifference quickly snapped into concern. You patted his back and grabbed his shoulders. “Kageyama, are you okay?” The coughing didn’t stop; he couldn’t stop them. Several flowers littered the grass, enough to make multiple bouquets. Your grasp on his shuddering body tightened. His chest heaved. For once, you were looking into his eyes.

“They - they weren’t your fault. You couldn’t control your feelings.” So he knew. “Let yourself cave to your emotions. It wasn’t your fault.” He was too pale, growing colder. “You don’t need anyone’s approval to love. They wanted you to be happy. So go and be happy.” His voice croaked and cracked, the flowers clogging his vocal tube. His breaths were short. His lids were closing. He was dying.

“Kageyama?” You called, this time it was your voice’s turn to crack. “To-Tobio. Please. I won’t be able to handle it. Don’t go.”

“I wish I could be there for you. I wish it were me. But I just want you to be happy. Be happy even if I’m not the one making you happy.” He tried to smile. You didn’t know. Your vision was blurred. 

He took one more glance at your face, still with that grin plastered on his face, before closing his eyes. You panicked, eyes wide and shaking his head.

“Kageyama?” You were alarmed. 

“Don’t do this to me.” You were afraid. 

“Come… Back.” You were devastated.

Your sobs turned into gasps. Your lungs felt like they were being squeezed and popped like a balloon. Your tears fell onto his still warm skin. A gulp of air was caught in your throat. It caught you off guard and you coughed. You coughed and choked. Was this how he felt? Was this how they felt? How painful. You couldn’t care less about how you sounded. You felt numb. The taste of salt and metal filled your mouth.

“What if,” It was quiet but audible, your throat too tired and bruised to be strong, “I loved you?” The single warm petal sat on the side of Kageyama’s cheek, taunting you and giggling at how foolish you were. it’s your turn it sneered.

cheesey bbs || @akaashichigo​ @drainedjaz​ @haikkeiji​ @annalyn-annalyn​ @mlkytobio​ @sosugasweet​ @cali-writes-sometimes​ @simping4ratsumu​ @ushiwakaa​ @from-left-to-write​ @akaashit-baeji​  @kxgeyamasmilk​ @agaassi​ @hanibuni​ @cupofkenma​  @kawanisshi​ @milkandc00kiez​ @thiccbokuto​ @shinsukestan​ @sufiawrites​ @wakaitoshi​ @skyguy-peach​ @fern-writes-ig​ @briswriting​ @kawaiikraykray​ @bubbleteaa​ @miyuswriting​ @raevaioli​ @ouikarwa​ @hakueishirei​ @pineapplekween​ @estherwritess​ @keiji-n​ @achoohq​ @badlywritten-hq​ @mochibeaa​ @oinkanna​ @chxrry-wxne​ @spudicide​ @airybby​ @asranomical​ @karmasuna​ @nekoglasses​  

[breg21]

Ladynoir Month: Obilivo

@ladynoirjuly2019

Ao3 FFN

At first, I wasn't sure how to fit Obilivo or anything related into the story.

And then, BAM, here we are I actually think it turned out decent.

As usual, I hope you guys enjoy! :D

Obilivo had been on Marinette's mind a lot lately.

Sure, it had been some time since that particular akuma, way before she and Chat even started dating actually, so she was kinda confused just as to why it had been on her mind lately. Every now and then, something inside just screamed at her to remember something she could not grasp. To remember a memory long gone.

But she couldn't. That was the most frustrating part, like a memory on the tip of her tongue, or brain as it was in this case.

Because it felt like a part of her was locked away. A part that knew something. Something incredible, wonderful and absolutely f-

"Bugaboo, you okay?"

She was shaken from her thoughts by the familiar voice of her boyfriend. She blinked a few times to focus back on the scene around them only to realize they were in the park, on a bench, hands laced together on the wooden plank, eating ice cream, and wearing their disguise. Her necklace, which she could wear proudly at the moment because she wasn't risking her identity, was strung clear around her neck, and it had quickly become a soft weight against her chest that she hated to take off when needed.

Oh, yeah. They were on a date.

She nodded as everything finally settled around her. It was stupid to keep thinking about the past. They were here, now. Forget everything else. "Yeah. Just lost in thought for a minute there, I guess."

He didn't look convinced. "Are you sure? Because I don't entirely believe that."

She let out a faint sigh and leaned over to rest her head against his shoulder, making sure to keep the ice cream from dripping over. "I don't know, honestly. I've… I've been thinking about Obilivo." She started to fiddle with the end of her overly large sweater sleeve.

Surprise took hold before it morphed to confusion in a second flat. "Why're you thinking about Obilivo? That was so long ago."

She rolled her shoulders, truly confused her self. "I wish I knew. I don't think it's ever really left my mind. It's always been there, in a way."

His hand came up to cup the side of her head, fingers playing with a few loose strands of hair— she usually always let her hair down when they were out on dates— as he pressed a few kisses to the side of her forehead. "Well, we were detransformed when we lost our memories, so maybe…"

"Wait." She broke away from him, eyes falling on his confused ones. "What do you mean, we were detransformed?"

He tilted his head to the side like the curious cat that he was. "What did you mean what do I mean? We weren't in our suits. Our masks were off. Didn't you see the video? I had used my cataclysm, and you had used your lucky charm. I mean it was all there, recorded, up until we go trapped ion the elevator at least."

She had, or at least tried to. She didn't like the sight of Chat getting hit though, and it served as a stark reminder that it happened often.

She would always stop the despicable video after that.

Maybe that sounded crude to most, but it always left an unappealing taste in her mouth whenever she saw Chat take the hit. It just wasn't right. And then there was the video that Alya had posted of the kiss and at the time, she was upset with it, but now it just left her with confusion on what happened that day.

But instead of giving a full explanation, she shrugged. "I never watched it in full."

He seemed to understand. "Yeah, after you were hit, the elevator doors closed and that was that. The next sighting of Ladybug and Chat was when they defeated the akuma and kissed afterward. There's speculation of what happened, of course, but no one really knows."

Their conversation ended there, and they just watched the people around them go on about their day. A band was setting up some music for the evening— she guessed the festival that the whole town was buzzing over was finally coming to the city— kids were chasing each other, and adults were having their usual chit chat. The glow from the evening sun filled them to the brim with warmth and comfort.

But the thought lingered. It struck a nerve deep down, in fact. As much as she shouldn't, she was jealous of her Obilivo self. Jealous that she knew, that she got the chance to spend an entire day with Chat, unmasked, and free. She got to know. This clueless girl was able to love him without fear like she did, simple and easy— even though she didn't exactly have feelings for Chat back then. What made her fall in love with him? What was there that she couldn't know about?

It left Marinette with a burning ache for a memory that she just couldn't have.

Chat picked up on her disintegrating mood, as he always did, and took to his feet, ushering her along with him with a steady, "C'mon." The music was just starting and he brought her left arm upright over their heads and spun her into a slow dance.

The melody was soft and sweet, but strong in the message it wanted to deliver. As Marinette's hands slipped around Chat's neck, and his own dropped to her waist, all her worries were put on the backburner as her head found its home on his chest just above his heartbeat.

As he rested his own cheek against the top of her head, the rest of the world fell away, she knew people were starting to gather to dance themselves, maybe food booths and others of the such were opening too, but it didn't touch them. It didn't touch their little bubble of happiness.

And then… then he started to sing a few lines of the lyrics to the song into her ear out of nowhere, and it was so beautiful, so lovely, she wanted to listen to him over and over again. His voice was something else entirely.

"Unforgettable in every way, and forevermore, that's how you'll stay."

His voice was so soothing, breath warm against her ear from the proximity of his mouth. Putting her under a spell that she was more than happy to fall into. Hawkmoth didn't exist at that moment, nor the concepts of identities. They weren't Ladybug and Chat Noir, secretly dating, no, they were just a boy and girl in love, as it should've been. No mess, no complications that faced them daily. Just them.

"That's why, darling, it's incredible."

Her earlier worries seemed silly now. Heck, identities and secretes seemed silly. They may make their own way in life and choices, but fate would always help them along to put them in the right place.

Right here, in this moment.

"That someone so unforgettable, thinks that I am unforgettable, too."

His voice spoke of the love he held for, and was filled with compassion and everything that he saw in her. How he saw the whole picture without even not knowing her real name. It always amazed her how he could do that. She hugged him tighter, like a lifeline that she wouldn't let fall from her grasp.

And she came to an understanding, that it didn't matter what the past held. The lost memories didn't count if she didn't want them to.

Now was what counted. Here and now. They've been making more and better memories that she would keep locked away in her heart forever. Beautiful memories that would last them a lifetime and even longer.

And all she really wanted, as they drew breath, was to continue to make even more with this man before her. Because maybe the miraculous stole their memories.

But, it couldn't steal this, or the memories they would make in the future.

------------------------------------------------

Later that night, after Marinette padded off to bed, Tikki was still wide awake, fluttering about for a while. When she saw Marinette worry, it brought her own wild thoughts about in her head, no matter how hard she tried to push them away.

No, she wasn't anxious with it, it didn't exactly eat at her horribly, this was her duty but Tikki still felt a twinge of guilt, knowing her chosen still wondered what had happened with Obilivo. It sometimes struck Tikki how important, yet hard it was to keep something from someone so precious, innocent, and caring as Marinette was. She was always so trusting in the kwami, knowing that Tikki knew best.

And that was why Tikki knew it'd be okay. Marinette couldn't know, and she was patient in that fact, that it just wasn't the right time.

But maybe, just maybe, Tikki could give her something. A little treasure to hold onto when she needed it.

As she flew over to a sleeping Marinette, she made sure all the lights were off before she landed on her forehead, settling in for sleep, she pressed a small kiss to the sleeping girl's forehead, giving her one little gift.

A memory for her to keep. Even if it was small, it was something truly unforgettable.

No wonder why I fell in love with you.

Tikki loves Marinette so much! She'd do anything she could to help her be okay. Until next time! Lots of love!

[novantinuum]

Together in Wanting

Read on AO3, comments and kudos there appreciated

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: T

Words: 2700~

Pairings: Fiddauthor

Story Summary: Ford overanalyzes every aspect of his strengthening crush on his roommate, and Fiddleford finally makes a move. (Content warning for some brief internalized homophobia.)

Very much inspired by an early RP with @the-ill-doctor, and my personal envisioning of how Ford and Fiddleford initially got together in our RP stuff. No context of that is needed to enjoy this, though. :D 

It only took the better part of a semester for thoughts of Fiddleford to become hopelessly and inseparably entangled within his mind. Like a single, minuscule spot of ink spilled on thick parchment— the property of capillarity pulling it through each and every layer, pigment spreading so deep one might never hope to separate the two again— whatever bewitching influence the man had unknowingly cast on him had grown and grown and created...

He shifted restlessly under his sheets, stealing away what were likely the last possible shreds of warmth his ratty bedding had to offer.  

Well...

It certainly created something new, Ford thought, anxiety buzzing deep through his bones. Something that wasn’t supposed to happen, not to him, not here. And yet, ignoring every hesitant voice that echoed at his peripherals instructing— no, demanding— that he come to his senses least trouble find him, something beautiful. Truth be told, he’d never experienced anything like this before, this... level of inexplicable attachment to another person. It was as intoxicating as it was infuriating. Here he stood, bottom of the pecking order— a college freshman, and one who didn’t have a lick of spare time to dedicate to paltry, fanciful matters such as these— and he just had to choose to be sweet on his own one-and-a-half-year older roommate!

Well, not that he had any choice in the matter. If it were up to choice, he’d probably have jumped ship that fated day he noticed all his thought patterns inevitably looping back around to that warm hearted, gregarious, confidence-for-miles southern genius. With every nervous flutter he felt within, it was almost maddening. Almost, if not for the payoff he received whenever he responded to his puns with an even dorkier one (Hey Fidds, what kind of ghosts haunt the chemistry lab? Methylated spirits) and his roommate’s laugh rang out loud and free.

Dear god, he loved the sound of his laugh. The breathy twang of his voice as he sang along with his banjo, as off key as it was. Hah, and to think he once scorned all of Fiddleford’s southern quirks...! What changed his mind? What became different in the four months they’d coexisted together, since that first day when Ford foolishly almost wrote him off as a brainless southern hick?

Oh, he remembered that day so vividly he could nearly recount the exact emotions that filtered through his being at every turn. When he first met Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, he hated him. He was utterly furious, because he was so low strung about everything, and so folksy, and taking up space in what was supposed to be his single dorm, his sanctuary from the rest of the world, but thanks to a housing mishap became sanctuary to two. He fell right into the insidious trap of judging him by mere appearance, right into blatant hypocrisy. The guilt he still felt for that was palpable, pressing down upon him like lead. Hopefully one day he’d find the right moment to apologize.

Still, it was all too unimaginable.

How could he possibly have known then what he knew now? That he’d fudge his first set of final exams and receive a few A minuses because he, Stanford F. Pines, couldn’t stop thinking about a man? Or that he’d be friends with him to begin with, after bemoaning over him ceaselessly to Ma that first week on the phone? What if he explored this the way he would with one of his experiments, conducted an unbiased scientific query focused on the origin of human romantic interactions within the temporal lobe of the brain? Could he ever pinpoint the moment, the precise variable, that sent that first ripple of nervous energy through his chest? Was it the day Fidds commented on a sketch of his DD&MD character and called them ruggedly handsome, not knowing that Ford based this elven sorcerer on himself? (Or did he know??) Maybe it was the first time he casually rest a hand on his shoulder— an action likely as natural as anything to someone from the tactile South, but entirely foreign to him. Or perhaps it was when they found a common interest in tinkering and stayed up until three am building an alarm clock Rube Goldberg would be proud of out of a busted toaster, some notebook spirals they salvaged from the trash, and an oven mitt?

How many hypotheses could he forge?

He shivered in the bitter January chill, his blankets no longer appropriate protection from the elements. He tilt his neck to catch a glimpse of his roommate, eyes squeezed closed and breathing evenly in the bed across the small dorm. The distance between them was only a few feet at most, but it might as well have been impenetrable. Ford sighed wearily, laying limp on his back, as if the weight of a loss he hadn’t yet experienced had already settled upon him.

Who was he kidding? All these thoughts he’d let enrapture his mind, these idle fantasies of what could be? Foolish. Shameful, that deep, terrified part of him whispered. For a number of reasons.

Reason one, his subconscious monotonously supplied once again. Reason one is that you’re not here at this dead-end school to entangle yourself in the lives of others. You’re here to prove your worth to your family and to academia, however you can. Reason two. He’s your roommate for the rest of the year. If you make a move, and you botch this up, life will become painfully difficult.

Reason three.

Reason three was most of his worries, and why he still hesitated to make any sort of advances. He already knew Fiddleford was... well, queer, as many of the man’s friends oft referred to themselves. But Ford? He wasn’t sure if... he never... How would he even...

True, he never felt any strong inclination towards the so-called ‘fairer sex’ as a kid. Even whatever throwaway crush he had on Cathy Crenshaw in the second grade seemed more manufactured than real, since every facet of society he’d encountered aimed to press upon him the concept of man and woman, groom and wife. But if he’d never experienced anything... romantically... inclined in the first place, then how on earth can he know for sure if that’s what this is? In the end, however, he supposed it wouldn’t be changing much about the way people saw him either way. He was already a poor, Jewish Jersey kid from a mixed family with a rare genetic mutation, why the hell not add ‘gay’ to the mix?

The minutes ticked on into endless oblivion, the only noticeable sound except for the low wind whistling at their window and the drunk laughter of those rowdy frat boys a few doors down. He nestled even further under his blankets, settling so they pulled all the way up to his chin.

He desperately wished he were braver. Truth be told, even if he could amass the courage, he didn’t know if Fiddleford would be interested. Again, his roommate was one and a half years older. They were both adults, sure, but was that still too weird? Would it be a deal breaker? At the very least, he counted himself forever lucky to have him as a friend and confidant, no matter what happened (or didn’t happen) between them. No matter what doubts assailed his thoughts, he would cherish each second he could get with him: Those few stolen moments on campus where Fidds would find him after class and they’d circle around the quad talking about DD&MD or the Apollo missions or that new academic journal on string theory Ford recently found for what felt like hours. Unique instances like last Friday, when they grabbed a bite to eat off campus together at Fidds’ impromptu request. Lazy evenings spent in the dorm not doing anything in particular, just progressing on coursework or personal projects, but always in each other’s welcomed company. Every bit of winter break, when Fiddleford kindly invited him to stay with his family in Tennessee so he didn’t have to hole up in the frigid dorms or return home.

He couldn’t help the hopeless, stupid smile that teased at his lips, his cheeks almost hurting from how wide it ran. See, and this was precisely why his feelings for Fiddleford couldn’t be downplayed as mere friendship or camaraderie! He never got this way thinking about his other DD&MD mates. Still, it was late, he was cold... letting his mind replay the same broken record all night long wouldn’t do him any favors. He yawned, and curled up to conserve as much body heat as possible.

“You still up?” a voice whispered softly from across the dorm.

He froze into a panic. All this time, Fiddleford wasn’t asleep?? Shit, shit, he didn’t notice him staring dazedly at his side of the room the whole time, did he?

“Yeah,” he replied on automatic, instantly regretting not pretending to be deep in slumber.

Fidds turned in his bed so they faced each other, head propped up on his pillow. “It sure is cold, huh.”

“It, ah... It sure is."

“An’ my blanket ain’t helping.”

“Uh, I- I could check if I have an extra?”

He didn’t. But oh, for Fiddleford, he wished he did.

“Y’know... with all that ice outside,” he drawled, “maybe we oughta work together to conserve heat. Mind if I... bunk with you, for the night?”

Never in his life had he been more grateful that he had the freedom to hide his blushing face under the covers. Jesus, Stanford, don’t go falling to pieces just yet.

“Bunk wi- with me?”

“Sure! I reckon that way, we can combine all our bedding and hopefully not freeze ta’ icicles in the middle of night.”

The unexpected proposal left his mind flooded with nothing but formless static, wholly undecided in its path. He... why would... What if they...

“Of course, only if you’re comfortable,” Fiddleford added quickly, and he knew he’d have to give a coherent response soon least he risk coming off as rude.

“I am!” he blurted out. “I mean, I- I’m not opposed. To the idea of it, to us, uh... yes.”

Nailed it.

His roommate grinned. “Be right over, then!”

He watched with a tumultuous mixture of dumbfounded shock (that such a proposition had ever occurred) and eager anticipation (that he would ever want to share a bed in the first place) as the man eagerly bundled up blankets in his arms and traversed across the room to him. While Fidds was taking care of that, he pulled back the corner of his comforter in preparation, as well as scooting himself clear to the wall. Gotta allow him as much space as possible, just in case his reasons for bed sharing weren’t the same as Ford’s reasons for his hands shaking like a leaf in sheer nervousness. Thank goodness he could excuse that away as the bite of the cold.

Fiddleford threw his blankets over the twin sized mattress, and true to form there was an instant increase in warmth. To think he’d nearly forgotten what such comfort felt like! After tucking the blankets in against the far wall— cute, real cute— he climbed in beside him. His long legs brushed against his, meeting with the hem of his sweatpants.

“Here, I can—“ he murmured, shifting his feet to allow him more room. “Is that—?”

“Yeah,” he said, settling in with a soft smile and resting his head on the pillow, nose mere inches from his. “Thanks,” he added, a flash of genuine appreciation in his eyes.

(Misty blue, he noted. Reminded him of the surf.)

Side by side, they lay together in pregnant silence for an unknown duration. Their overlapping heartbeats were the only identifiable sound other than the clock’s ticking, and the never ceasing whistling of the wind. Seems the frat boys, at least, had since gone to sleep.

“Ford...”

“Hmm?”

“You do know I like ya’, right?”

And with that, a jolt of electricity shot through his entire nervous system. His tongue went slack, and Fiddleford spoke again.

“Like, like like you?”

Oh sweet Moses, it was as if his stomach had turned itself inside out- but not in an unpleasant, sick in bed with carbonated water and soda crackers sort of way, not at all. No, rather the odd sensation was light and fluttery. His face felt curiously warm, a welcome change from the frigid conditions he’d suffered in all night up until now. Breathlessly, he tried to splutter out a response.

“Y-you... you mean to say that you—?”

“Was wonderin’ when you’d finally notice? No offense, but your head’s kinda been up in the clouds.”

“I—“

He closed his eyes, steeling his nerves.

“I- really like you, too,” he finally admitted, that fluttery sensation acting up again at declaring it out loud for the first time.

“Oh, we all know,” he said fondly.

His eyes shot open.

“We?"

“What, d’ya think the rest of the crew couldn’t notice? Ford Pines, ‘m sorry ta say you really ain’t as subtle as you think you are, pining away over here.” Fiddleford paused to reach across to his face, and brushed a stray bit of his brown hair behind his ear. He peered thoughtfully into his eyes. “You ain’t subtle, and neither am I, frankly. It’s why I decided to be the first to speak up ‘bout it, ‘cause lord knows it probably wouldn’t‘ve been you.”

“I’d say I resent that, but you’re probably right,” he said with a warm chuckle, already feeling a great deal more confident about the scenario than he did only moments ago.

That wonderful man simply had something about him, something about the upbeat, genuine way he talked, that could put even the most nervous of souls at ease. He couldn’t explain it, not fully, but whenever he was around him he felt inspired to do things he’d never before considered. To take risks, to experience new and better things, to say ‘fuck it’ and sign up for that cryptography elective he desperately wanted to take even though it didn’t apply to his major... To always make the best effort he could to take care of himself, to live striving with purpose regardless of when that purpose feels impossibly distant on the horizon, to laugh daily even when laughter is the last thing he feels he’s humanly capable of...

To fall in love...

“How long has it been,” he asked, suddenly curious, “since you knew?”

“Since I knew...? Knew what? That I liked men? That you had a crush? That- that I also had one?”

“Any of it, really?”

“Hmmm,” Fiddleford thought out loud, tapping his slender finger to his chin. “Well, I figured out I was queer back when I was a kid. Had a crush on this young mailman we used to get ‘round our parts, see. And I knew you had the hots for me ever since I overheard ya’ muttering all sorts of cute things in your sleep.”

A nervous “Heh, heh” was all he could manage in response. He leaned his head ever so slightly closer to him.  

“But me? Well, I s’pose it was... Apollo 12. Back in November. We were watching the launch downstairs, in the lounge, and you... you were just so passionate about it. ‘Bout the whole world ‘round us. All my days an’ I’ve never known anyone so in love with discovery, with askin’ why. Spending time with you’s been one of the best things in my life,” he admitted, blushing slightly.

“Same,” Ford agreed, grinning wildly, his cheeks the same shade of red. “So then, if we both...? What now?”

“For now, we sleep,” he said with a short laugh. “If we stay up any later, not even Cafe Cubano could wake us up in time for lecture, I’m sure."

“Ah, but you doubt the power of my ma’s famous Cafe Cubano.”

He snickered, and then— leaned over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Ford.”

The man rolled over then, a respectful offer of privacy within their already intimate arrangement. Ford beamed, still entirely giddy and awed in light of everything that had happened, dusting his fingers over the skin his lips graced.

“Goodnight...” he wished, his restless form finally finding a sense of deep, encompassing peace.

For tonight, at least, his slumber would be sound and dreamless.

[handweavers]

capricorn, juno, 4th house?

capricorn - what’s your dream job?

if my brain was nice and liked to cooperate with me and i didn’t go into like. a blood-red rage every time i heard something blatantly racist i’d be a legal aid lawyer specialising in immigration and refugee law as well as first nations issues but my brain hates me and i don’t think my blood pressure could handle being constantly furious so djdjdjdj

my actual realistic real-life goal is being a narrative/story/character writer for video games :3

juno - do you believe in soul mates?

see this is so hard for me to answer bc like. i don’t agree w mainstream western concept of soulmates or that there is one person out there made to be with me, but as a sikh i believe in reincarnation and the transference of energy in the universe and i think that whatever energy i’m made of is familiar to those i love and i would recognize them across galaxies, and perhaps our energies are tied together in ways both seen and unseen, and when i say ‘people i love’ i mean my mother, my closest friends, other family i am connected with in deep meaningful ways. i don’t think we were made to be together by a higher power or anthropomorphic deity but just. the universe and all of its knowledge and power and the way it pushes people together who are good for one another and understand each other, if that makes even a lick of sense.

4th house - what does your bedroom look like?

its light and airy w a lot of white and light wood furniture + metal furniture and i have string lights everywhere and the colour pallette is soft cream, mustard yellow, shades of grey and black, deep rusty orange, and white. video game posters and artwork and postcards from art shows and local events i’ve been to and gifts from friends hanging on the walls in a patchwork-y way, tassel garlands made from yarn strung across walls, dried flower bunches, a big bookcase filled with books and my funko pops and other art decor, etc. i just took my sleep med so i feel like i’m rambling but every time people come into my room they say things like ‘wow looks very instagram/tumblr/pinterest’ which is so fuckign funny nfrjgnebtberbeb i just really like when my room looks visually pleasing and comforting and everything feels cohesive. i always have my bedroom fan on and my cool-air humidifier on my desk going to counteract my eczema and asthma and constant higher-than-average body temperature fndnndnr oh and stacks of books everywhere like. /every/ surface has a book on it.

(i’m sorry it took me this long to answer these, the past couple days weren’t that good but i’m feeling better now :))

[gooddame]

Klaroline putting together ikea furniture

AN: I am so sorry I took a million years to write this but I do hope you’ll love the idea I came up with on a whim. Moreover I want to thank @kickassfu for being a big part of the reason this was so long and took so long.

Please help me thank the lovely @denielapple, for prompting me. Happy reading loves!

For the last few days he had been more than high strung, Klaus knew but it was Rebekah’s own fault. He also found it ludicrous that she would try to insinuate that his mood had anything to do with a certain blonde staying in his loft for the week as his frown deepened at the feel of his phone ringing in his pocket.

It was Caroline’s tone, he had it set that way for no particular reason at all other than boredom he always rationalized with himself. He sought out his phone as he picked it from his pocket muttering as he answered.

“I can’t believe this,” Klaus’ accented voice filled Caroline’s ear with an annoyed tone she hoped wasn’t directed at her. It was.

Ignoring him however was always her first instinct so she went for it, “Klaus,” she greeted him over the phone as she finished her signature off on the tablet reciving the packaged Klaus had asked her to look out for.

Lines formed on her face forming a grim look as the delivery men let themselves out with bashful looks across their faces. She had only looked away a second to slide on her heel when she heard the loud scratching sound across the what she presumed was an expensive floor job. Now she was left to explain the occurance to her, er, host? To Klaus.

Her eyes automatically rolled back when he spoke however using that condesending tone that truly grated her nerves from time to time, “Caroline, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me at work.” Klaus greeted her in turn.

With a deep breath Caroline took the high road, “Well I thought,” she paused reversing her decision when he made a deep sound in his throat, “You know, with my lady brain. That you would want to know your custom order bed just landed on your custom designed wood floors scratching the entrance.”

There was a pause so brief that she could picture the rubber band of his mind possibly snapping when he hissed rather darkly into the receiver, “I’ll be right there, Marcel!” He called to someone in the distance.

Klaus felt his hand twitch as Rebekah passed his office door on the way to her own unbeknownst to her Caroline was on the line for him. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he scribbled down a note focusing on the discerning tone the blonde he had thought about every day of his adult life about. Marcel stepped into his office as the line went dead on her end signalling his dismissal Klaus prerended the line was still active and dismissed the call of his own accord before he engaged with his colleague.

Caroline fought to stifle her laugh as she hung up the call, her eyes forcibly noticed the time registered on the screen. She was so going to be late for her interview, Caroline thought in a panic before she grabbed her bag to go. Staying with Klaus this weekend was not exactly her idea even though it had made sense logically to not get an expensive hotel room when his guest suite was available.

Or at least that was what Rebekah had said and Caroline had just been repeating it to herself since then. Klaus and herself only got along once, once, Caroline shivered as she wondered if she would ever suppress the memory of his lips. Of his tongue brushing hers, reliving it she shook herself from the sensation.

“Get over it,” she muttered to herself as she made her way out of the building pausing only to smile at the frontdoor man.

Having been drunk kissing and grinding against your best friend’s brother’s pelvis against a staircase during a college party wasn’t her best moment. Both of them pretending it never happened after that wasn’t far behind on things Caroline would like to suppress. Although now was turning out to be fantastic, she wished she would get to see his face as he set eyes on the scratch but alas she had a certain poacher to impress.

When Klaus opened his front door he called for Caroline only to realize far too late what day it actually was so the blonde in question was already gone. A heaviness overtook him in the solitude of his home as he took a deep breath only to catch her temporary, he reminded himself,  lingering scent filling his nostrils. His eyes then fell to the floor, the three foot long new feature marring his designer floor did not improve his sour mood.

Working efficiently Klaus removed his suit jacket and undid his tie as he reached for the house phone prepared for battle with the store manager. After an hour on both his cell phone and house phone he had untucked his shirt and removed his trouser socks and shoes but he had won a few small battles. The retailers had been overly friendly but untilmately unhelpful after the purchase had been made and the delivery crew he had hired to pick the custom bed up from the store had left the premises while he was at work which left him to duel with the delivery team.

He had been smart about the insurance policy but in the end was out still a hefty sum making him wonder why he got insurance in the first place. Klaus then checked the clock on the stove and he saw it was drawing passed dinner, long past the time Caroline said she would be free. He had hoped to scrape some time together to diplomaticlly discuss her position, he groaned at the censoring of his own thoughts.

His eyes shut he rubbed his face with his hand as he hoped to scrub away the desire to see her enter and smile for a brief moment before she realized that they dispised one another. Something that was easier to admit to whether it was false or not than to admit to the truth which was that he was irrevocably in love with Caroline Forbes. Klaus found himself in the kitchen looking through his fridge like a bored bloody teenager opening and shutting the door as he thought maybe something new would appear each time.

He was wrong so instead he reached for a lager and a tupperware container that had her name on it. He smiled at the yellow post-it that read,

‘Dinner for Friday-Caroline, p.s. DON’T TOUCH KLAUS.’

“Opps,’ he laughed in the quiet of his loft allowing himself a moment of reward as he shut the door to the fridge after he gathered another ale in his hand.

Caroline was fried after she had spent the day in a series of interviews. She had found herself arriving back his place late that evening after a dinner with her boss or hopefully her new boss. She was confident after a day of questions and scenarios that she would be one of the top people taken into consideration for the position but again nothing was offical yet.

She rummaged in her bag for the spare Rebakah had lent her hopeful that due to the late hour Klaus wouldn’t even be an issue. Her hopes diminished when the door opened and Caroline walked in to find Klaus holding a lager by the kitchen bar standing as if waiting for her.

He heard the key jingle from the hallway outside and knew it was her but made no move to leave his place by the marble island. Klaus ignored the fact that he might have had a drink too many to properly discuss what he had been planning on discussing. The soft buzz of his body reminded him of ears ago when he felt her supple body against his writhing with intensity. They had been interrupted but Klaus had hoped rather foolishly that Caroline and he would have time to sort out what had happened between them and how wrong had he been.

With visions of days before he faced her, watched as she slung her keys back into her bag unaware of him, "You’re in late,” he observed darkly from the other end of the long open concept living room.

What little of her smile was left was diminished as their stare down grew intense, “Okay, hi mom,” Caroline snorted as she made to avoid him by walking directly towards her room, “It’s barely ten so I think I’m early enough for curfew!”

He chuckled dryliy, “Adorable, really,” he said offensively as he perched his back against the wall, “The delivery team said you signed off so they’re not as liable as I’d like for them to be.”

Caroline felt that it was as if he was pushing for a fight. Looking poorly to her to take his day out on, it was then she grumbled under her breath about a perfectly good day ruined. The blonde counted the five bottles on thenisland and rolled her eyes when it all made sense.

Klaus hardly drank, a glass or two of burbon but after that he normally was fine so naturally this beguilled her, “That’s what you do with a package,” she reminded him of society’s code of conduct, “You sign for it!”

Klaus watched her, he felt like a predator wolf lurking out for his prey. Caroline was the perfect prey and he longed to see the face she made when he ruffled her perfect feathers. He lips seemed to pout, green eyes ablazed, her whole being sermed to light up so blinding like her own sun no need to tell her it was all settled.

Caroline felt her insides boil over at the near smirk he gave her as his eyes lit up like ready, set, go. The same deep, penetrated look he gave her that night, the exact same look he gaves her each time before the pair have them argue. Damn him, her mind shouted at her as he stalked forward talking measured steps until he was before her nearly pressing her to her door sending up all sorts of red flags.

His tongue darted out tasting the ale on his lips as he watched her closely, “Now I’m out thousands of dollars,” Klaus replied sounding indifferent.

Distracted as their eyes locked he spoke, “Caroline,” his tongue danced over her name as his breath lined with hints of his lager fanned her cheeks, “All over a bed.”

She sucked in a breath and realized her mistake a second too late when her senses were violated by his day old aftershave and delectable aroma that was always so perfectly Klaus. Her mind and body malfunctioning in a high degree as she fought to exhale her anxiety, her eyes darting from his mouth to his neck. Why, her every part of her asked and Caroline had no answer as he smirked and she had no idea which one of her reactions had caused it.

It was a moment suspended in time just like this that would forever be locked in his mind. Caroline was a vision, Klaus was big enough to admit to himself that he was a fan of every part of her. But this, fire, he named it, he sought it out only to recreate it as a sketch immortalized forever time and again.

Her eyes turned to slits, she felt her face colour, her body heat in a way that was not entirely unwelcome. So she was surprised when she missed her hand placed over his broad, hard chest. Caroline distinguished the surprise that lit his fearures before he could isolate them and stow such human feelings aside. And it did not stop her from being very close to telling him just where he could stick his, er, bed frame.

“A bed you haven’t stopped talking about.” Caroline rejoindered with a narrowed look of her own as she took in the picture he made, displeased expression doing nothing to diminish his handsomeness as his brows knit together in deep concentration.

His manicured thumb grazed her knuckles just so making her gasp before her fingers pulled her own hand away and she balked, “Why isn’t it set up by the way?” Forcing her voice steady.

Spell gone, the frission of the moment dispersed, Klaus’ eyes drifted from her lips to the door behind her tracing the pattern as he struggled for words if only momentarily, “The man I’m paying to set it up was unavailable until noon tomorrow,” his answer came in an unsatisfactory fashion.

All at once the light extinguished in his eyes but Caroline hardly noticed it as she spoke, “Klaus its a bed, do it yourself.” She told him before she scathed, “Moneybags.” Under her breath while her back leaned against the door.

Disdain, he read it so clearly on her face that it disappointed him, “You know,” he started to say lager in his hand as he gestured to her.

“Just when I think we’re seeing eye to,” he stopped himself always careful to never reveal too much just like the morning after their first kiss as he took a step back and then another leaving Caroline breathless, “Nevermind. Goodnight Caroline.”

Caroline’s hands at her sides clutch for purchase against the door as her mind and heart struggled in his retreat to figure out just what had transpired between them. Vaguely she heard him drop the bottle in the sink as he stormed to his office where Caroline was certain he had a layaway bed in the sofa. All this occured to her but moving, letting this moment go, frightened her to her core. So she waited, collected herself  before she slid into the safety of her room.

Klaus could not be enticed to sleep even after the generic Murphy bed had been pulled down and he had changed the sheets something was wrong with him. His secret turmoil spilling out in aggravated breaths and grunts as he removed his loosely buttoned shirt with rolled up sleeves and his tailored slacks. He sat up with a feeling of dislike as he muttered the nickname that had marred her lips as it slipped through before walking to his bedroom where it lay over the carpet that protected this floor.

Her first uttered thought after she realized she was awake was the curse word she heard Klaus speak not a moment later. She had struggled to get some sleep after their little tiff hours earlier preparing for bed in a mechanical fashion as she pulled on a light blue silk slip gown. A soft mournful yawn escaped Caroline as she found herself awake yet again in the middle of the night thinking of him. Maybe it was the fact that she was in his city, in his bed, Caroline felt her face heat at the false thought that escaped her when she heard another bang sound.

The side of her face rubbed at her pillow as she willed herself to sleep, to shut her eyes and stop listening. Why was he so enthralling? She scoffed at herself, “You mean irritatingly confusing Caroline,” her mind wandered out loud.

“I’m in far too deep,” she whined to herself rubbing her eyes knowing that sleep would never come for her now.

Earlier her tiredness has worn her into a slumber but now it seemed her body, mind and most terribly her heart was eager to figure out the noises that had piqued her ears interest. At the sound of a groaned sigh followed by a metal clacking Caroline began to sit up in her temporary bed. A deep exhaled escaped her as she looked around the room her fingers playing with the delicate necklace her father gave her when she was younger, the final gift he gave her before he  passed. Caroline felt her heartbeat under her chest as she copied the beat with her breaths.

She felt warm, almost too hot as she started to shove the floral covers off of her body in an effort to cold down. Quickly after she sat up Caroline realized that he too must have been bothered by the conversation between them and had in fact woken up. It was when she heard another term she wasn’t overly familar with followed by a grunt of the wood he was working on that the blonde knew what he was up to.

“Cheeky little,” Klaus sighed as Caroline listened quietly from her place on the bed.

With a deep breath she eyed the ceiling following the crown moulding as another groan escaped his bedroom floating across the vast loft through her door. It seemed to Caroline that he was confused, fustrated, that he felt now how she had felt before when she had spoken to him. She rationalized quickly however that she was thinking far too much about what had happened and comparing both situations was entirely useless becauae Klaus simply did not feel for her what she had always felt for him.

It was a sober thought to Klaus that he had her so near and yet it he had never felt more distant from Caroline. Often, more often than not, he had pondered why his heart was resistant to the charms of another more willing offer. Still, his heart persisted in loving a woman that would never have him he thought with a groan as he tossed away the wooden frame.

Caroline fought within herself, with her scattered, tired thoughts, that Klaus might feel something similar to how she felt. Be that in the situation from before or her ongoing battle with her heart to let him go as she brushed the hair from her face back behind her ears. She willed the idea away that Klaus felt something possibly similar to what she did as she leaned further down catching wisps of what he muttered.

“Calm down, Niklaus, you have a degree in….” She heard him as he bemoaned to himself possibly berating himself for his lack of everyman knowledge that she had mocked him for not having.

Caroline stilfed a laugh as she wrapped her robe losely over her shoulders tiptoeing to the door, “Niklaus,” she whispered into the dark walkway as she took quiet steps towards the kitchen.

Her idea had been to make him a tea, as a sign of peace when she almost knocked over the kcup box to find more than the few she had used missing. Caroline smiled to herself as she decided to make a coffee seeing as it was nearing four am. He cursed again sounding closer than he did in her bedroom.

For a moment Caroline thought she had been caught out but Klaus was far too preoccupied across the apartment to worry about her. Gathering the mug she normally used knowing it would annoy him because it was actually his favorite. She worked diligently calling on her barista skills from her college days until the mug sat in steaming glory now ready with warm liquid perfection and she strolled through the loft freely.

Klaus really did have good taste, she thought looking at the decor of the room for the first time without feeling self conscious about being there. Caroline allowed herself a peek inside the opening of his office as her back brushed the back of the open door. His scent seemed to surround her, his essence flooding her with awareness as her feet moved to step away. Her soft steps were barely registered in her mind as she seemed to float to his bedroom coated in courage as she reached for the door handle.

“I will find you and I will kill you,” he promised the missing screw he had lost as he searched the pocket of his gray sweatpants.

This time Caroline did giggle making Klaus stutter in his idle threats as his eyes shut in embarrassment. What a picture he must have made on his hands and knees scouring the plush brown carpet he thought as he willed himself to look to her. Klaus bit his tongue minutely grateful he had managaged not to swallow it at the sight if her barely clothed leaning against his doorway.

“Klaus,” she sighed crossing her arms as she sipped from his mug unaware of what it did to him, “The tree is already dead.” She reasoned, “Don’t torture it.”

Caroline complimented herself inwardly for not gawking at his bare chest, only taking a sip of his coffee to hide her jaw dropping as he spoke from his place on the floor, “This is not a true screwdriver,” he proclaimed waving the silver tool that had come with the instructions.

“Did you google it?” Caroline asked as she skirted her way into the room as she tried for nonchalance.

“Caroline,” her name grumbled deep in his throat in reply as he watched her come to her knees next to him bewildered.

“Here, sip, shush,” she smiled as she held out his mug for him to take his hand reaching as he appraised her long legs beside him.

If she noticed as much she didn’t mention it which was fantastic because he had not planned on another fight, “Coffee?” He sniffed looking at the caramel liquid she gifted him as he imagined it was a show of peace.

She made a grab for the tiny screwdriver in his hand pointing it at him with it when she did, “Don’t pretend you bought that for me,” Caroline replied jovilly, “The k-cups were already half gone.”

He simpered edging closer to her on his knees until she could feel his body heat radiating in the leftover space, “No one can know,” he said in a conspiring tone.

She blushed even as her mouth fell open, “Are we sharing secrets?” Caroline asked him in near glee as a shiver slid down her spine.

“Well,” he paused dramatically to drink a sip of coffee, “I showed you mine, Love,” he flirted with a wink in her direction.

Frazzled didn’t begin to explain how Caroline felt as she made her way around him to take in what he had actually accomplished, with a chuckle she told him, “I’ll handle this side.”

They worked in a comfortable silence with Klaus on one end and Caroline working not so far away from him sharing the instructions. A look every so often shared between them lingered as they steadily completed the frame of the bed until finally they only had one section left. Caroline felt Klaus’ chest against her back as she struggled with the tightening of the last screw, his arms reaching around her to help her finish.

He didn’t know why it felt so natural to wrap himself around her though he wagered it was a mixture of lack of sleep and the lateness of the hour as he released the silver tool into her care. Caroline smiled as she turned her head to look at him as she rose up and lifted her leg up over the newly built frame. His eyes followed her to the mattress wrapped in plastic by his closet door watching as she gestured with her head for him to help.

Klaus flushed as he realized what she was silently asking, “How are you so patient?” He queried as he stood struuing towards the new mattress as she finished unwrapping it.

Caroline grinned as they lifted the memory foam mattress off of the carpet settling into a slow pace towards the bed, “How are you not?” She asked as her robe slid down for the fifth time that last hour, “You have siblings.”

Klaus smiled at her reasoning as he quipped, “Aggravating to a fault,” not expecting her reply to be witty or revealing.

The blonde nightmare qcross from him scoffed though she agreed with him, “Just like you,” she pointed out as they slipped the bed into place.

Klaus felt the concerned creases pf his forehead and eyes form at the acknowledgment of his usal behavior, “You find me aggravating?” He couldn’t help but ask.

Caroline walked around the bed, her fingers fussed with the silk rope around her waist that kept coming loose as she thought out her reply, “I find you,” she paused with a small blush he barely caught, “Frustrating.”

Intrigued Klaus caught her warm, soft hand without a second thought as she tried to walk to his door distracting her, “In what way?” He asked curiously.

She smiled at the feel of her hand in his looking down at their entwined hands, “I’ll keep that to myself,” she let out in a breath.

“I thought we were sharing secrets,” Klaus pressed with a swift motion of his hand tugging on hers to pull her body that much closer to his so he could catch the light going up in her eyes up close.

“Klaus,” she barely whispered as he set her hand over his heart as it had been earlier that evening so that his own hands could slant down her ribs to her waist pushing her closer.

“Caroline,” her name flitted across her lips causing flutters of delight to course through them as their eyes searched one anothers.

Her hands found themselves going up, up, up over his arms, her fingers pressing into his shoulders and neck. His stubble tickled her cheeks, his teeth pricked her bow lips as time seemed to once more suspend in a moment. A soft moan escaped her at the feel of his blunt teeth scrapping over her bottom lip but Klaus still waited. His eyes still searched hers, beseeched her permission even as he willed it to be so.

And so her eyelids fell closed as her lips felt his smiling ones slide over her own in feather light kisses before finally tasting the sweet cavern of his mouth once more. Klaus groaned making her laugh softly into their kiss remembering why she had woken up this morning in the first place as she tasted the lingering coffee and toothpaste flavor of his supple mouth. Her lips left his and began to travel his throat, nipping and kissing the expanse of skin there as she listened to the sounds she elicited in him.

His fingers gripped her waist massaging her tired limbs as his hand fought with the front knot of her robe causing her to gasp his name into his neck in response. It was a warning Klaus knew as her hard breath teased his neck spurring on his actions as her own hands grew adventurous over his tense torso causing his muscles to flinch where she touched. His mind went blank as her robe fell back exposing the soft creme color of her shoulders his mouth drying at the sight yet eager to taste.

“It only took nine years,” he uttered gruffly as she laughed, her laugh turning into a sigh when he snared her in for a deep plunging kiss that dueled with the memory of their first.

Please forgive the grammar and late hour of posting! As always your thoughts are apprciated here and on fanfic.net.

[iluvtv]

Hail Canada Finale: Exceptional Lexicon...

Happy 2019! USA’s number 45 may (or may not) be taking full credit for the country suffering a “partial” shutdown but no worries, Hulu came through for the country this holiday season instead. It’s like Santa (or maybe Daddy Warbucks) works in entertainment! As of December 27th the streaming service proved my previous predictions piss poor and gifted America the full glut of Letterkenny backlog. God Bless America.

             Somebody of influence is clearly reading my blog.  

                                              What does this mean to you, Gentle Reader? Why should it matter that while I started drafting a wee work on just how superb this particular Canadian export really is I got entirely consumed with additional episodes? 

To put it simply, appreciation overload. I am now entirely overwhelmed with Letterkenny’s tasteless charm and thusly totally paralyzed. 

As I consider best communication tactics to portray just how crucial consumption of this rather unlikely Sylv Fan Fav, really is I’m worried I might actually need to “hoover” a huge line of the “devil’s dandruff” to make it through. But if the hicks of Letterkenny have ambiguously taught me anything about casual cocaine use it is that its never a good look to indulge while sober. A lesson taught over a discussion about how much they loath Dan’s six year old cousin (this rivalry circles back in later seasons during a debate over wether or not having a little sister will sort small Samual out, a concept Wayne compares to a celebrity getting a puppy to help them get back on track “Seems like a backwards plan to me,” he says, “the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life is that a baby is smart.”) but I digress... why, Gentle Reader, is this six year old so awful?  Well, the hicks “Saw him snort a line of fun dip the other day.” That, they explain is a “Fun dip Dry rip,” or, when you do a line of schneef before you’ve ingested any booze to alter your judgement. A Dry rip, they warn is a sure sign you have a shneef problem. All the while Dary and Dan concede they did indulge themselves (back in their glory days).

I, however, absolutely refuse to let this blog result in a full blown shneef problem. Instead I’ll do as they do in this fictional little town of Letterkenny from which the show hails its namesake:

and “pitter patter, let’s get at ‘er...”

One caveat: while, I do not want to be completely crippled by comedy, here it wouldn’t be fair to assume that I, a California City Chic who by rule trends away from overtly crass humor can justifiably convey the genius which is Letterkenny, but let’s just try .. 

Most episodes open with landscape views of a very chilly looking Letterkenny and the note that there are 5,000 people in said town (hicks, skids, hockey players, christians and natives) and their problems.

While I’ve casually seasoned a line or two of dialogue throughout this blog I can’t actually adequately quote this show because (and this is important) the creators Jared Keeso and Jacob Tierney (and clearly the rest of the writing staff) are absolute MASTERS OF WORDPLAY and the actors’ timing is so pricelessly perfect that to even try to repeat most moments would be a gross injustice to the medium. 

This team of literary savants brilliantly twists puns (like when Wayne pours out the end of a warm beer Dan responds with “you have some kind of drinking problem? That theres alcohol abuse”), creates complex (and hilarious) characters with compelling, often sad (and hilarious) storylines, weaves interesting narratives, spews non-sequiturs, confronts factual yet controversial stereotypes, invokes compassion for both the absurd and the underdog, shamelessly polks fun at everything, including (but hardly limited to); politics, popular culture, sexual orientation, regions, races, origins, creeds other countries (like when Wayne explains the eating habits of our brethren “Malt vinegar is not a staple condiment on table tops in restaurants” Disgusted, the boys respond “Figure it out, somebody should really write a letter” but then concede, “They do have 6 kinds of Cap’n Crunch though”) and Ostrich Fuckers, all of this is done with sincere (and hilarious) honesty, a clever and often very nuanced style and all the while somehow managing to circle back to previous stories and quips sometimes so subtly that the untrained ear (or eye) might miss out. For example it is somehow terribly notable to me that we frequently find Dary eating small breakfasts’ with absurdly large spoons. 

Regardless of the approach, the through line remains constant: assorted misfit groups of friends flagrantly (and unapologetically) discuss every taboo thought that may (or may not) have ever crossed you or your pal’s mind (only you would have quickly squashed these ideas back down to the deep recesses of your Gentle Reader brain). They procure this unabashed and unapologetic honesty in a very, very fast Canadian dialect that is virtually incomprehensible at times (particularly in the earlier episodes as your ear adjusts to the style). And yet, as one American reviewer put it: I still get it, because I speak funny.

And this is why I genuinely believe no matter who you are or what your usual tastes may implicate if you too are fluent in the language of humor Letterkenny is just an absolute sure thing (given, of course a moment to adapt to the shows distinct language and stylings). 

At first it will probably seem just so stupid and gross but upon closer inspection it just might be the absolute most cleverly written show I’ve ever barely understood.

Kevin Tierney, another television journalist (and proud Poppa to one of the show’s writers and producers) put it best:

“...not to say the show is witless. On the contrary. It is an absolute festival of language, from the very, very local to the bizarrely idiosyncratic, especially when strung together by accents that are … well, different..”

He goes on to say this of the dialogue:

“...they might well change your whole sense of the scatological...”

And that really is the crux of it, isn’t it? So what, Gentle Reader, if it took me (a shamelessly proud California City Chic) until the third season to fully grasp the collective MO of each specific clique in this specific little town? Now I’ve gotten it and I did it with nary a fun dip dry rip in sight. What binds Letterkenny in their fast paced conversationally driven relationships with both their friends and foes was spelled out for all to understand when the dumb hockey players just out and said what I’d been attempting to put my finger on for months:

“Just pick a topic and beat the shit out of it.”

And this really can be any fucking topic from drug use to male models to working out one’s legs. With options just so limitless and with a well informed writing staff even the dumbest of topics are discussed with an odd sense of eloquence and, well... science.

Which is why even I don’t hate an entire episode entitled Fartbook in which the only subject explored for a full thirty minutes is the creation of a social network for your farts. And let’s face it, in the end is it really any worse than your face, Gentle Reader? Probably not.

To quote the farmers:

“No one cares about your cat’s farts.”

“Everyone who has a cat or a kid is going to think their farts are special and unique, they’re not.”

There are full minutes of dialogue spent categorizing snacks. Alphabetically. In verse. An important exercise executed in order to limit options (and thusly not overpack snacks for a fishing trip to Quebec) Dary and Dan have regaled themselves to foods only beginning with the letter C. When Katy questions the beer they quickly retort:

“Cold Beer.”

Obviously.

It is this ability to harp one subject until it is rendered all but useless and then find innovative ways to harp on it some more that defines the misfits of Letterkenny.

The town absolutely must create their very own euphemism dictionary. Or maybe they already have.

And while a fictional dictionary might be of some aid for us partially shutdown Northern Americans, subtitles won’t be. No matter! Consider this a genuine plea: please, please do not to give up before you’ve started! This show is a call for authenticity and friendship and it is looking like those are things all of our 2019s will need a lot of!

[eternitywander]

Afterward Preamble

CHAPTER 1: afterward preamble

Void. A realm of absolute nothing, of only negative space. Not a sight nor a sound were welcome, nor but a thought. What was experienced could not accurately be described as an expanse of black, nor of white, nor of gray, as one’s immediate intuition may lead them to picture. There were no ridges, no curves, no forms to be discerned for the world was the epitome of absence, a plane where not one’s own self could manifest. The concept of time and the concept of space were distant, unfamiliar. Morality, life, love… this realm knew not of those concepts. Nobody could tell you how long their essence resided in the limbo, and they could not tell you where it existed. At some point, however,

It ended.

The curtains that gatekept reality cracked open and allowed a smidgen of light to filter through the boy’s pupils. For a while, he lay unmoving as if still in the abstract purgatory. Thoughts inched slowly into his head like a spider crawling ignorantly into one’s mouth while the individual slept, or like a lousy rallentando offset from the rest of the choir’s harmony. Letters collected into words, and words strung together to form one coherent sentence: I am dead. This one declarative was the only truth for which the boy could be utmost confident. With that basis in mind, his fingers began to twitch as if reflexively, surveying the qualia of the surface upon which he rested. This rudimentary application of the scientific method unfortunately lends no tangible results. Was the material dirt? Was it mud? Sand? Sensory data, of which is used by all to ground their reality proved, in this instance, inconclusive. There was more to understand now than there was in the Void, yet the results are thus far longingly unsatisfactory to the young man. 

The energy of life seeped into the boy like a dose of cold water down the throat and after some time a spark returned to him, shocking him into his new reality. He rose, his eyes darting around and ingesting shades of gray, brown, and red. The colors shifted and merged like a sloppy collage viewed in a daze and the boy struggled to etch in his mind a decisive mold of the land and sky before him. All he could discern is that its appearance was somewhat familiar to his conception of a desert, possibly a landscape reminiscent of one without engendering each of the qualities defining land as a desert. The temperature was likewise ambiguous. His youthful curiosity rekindled, questions begin to spin around his head: Where am I? How did I get here? What happened? While an element of fright and desperation underpinned his thoughts, the texture was that of genuine intrigue. So many questions, and only one answer:

I am dead.

The boy planted his feet firmly into the ground and threw himself up, dizzying in the process like a schoolkid throwing himself out of his cherry-colored bed as to not be late for the first day of school. His limbs felt like electrocuted spaghetti and a migraine seized his head. As if doing so would steady the turvy world, he places his left hand against the side of his face with his ring finger rested on his round lips, his middle finger on his small nose, and his index finger through a curl of thick white hair against his forehead. As thoughts collided and jumbled inside of his head, his hand remained; and unbeknownst to the boy, a dark smoke began to rise between the crevice between hand and face. Soon a shot of pain, odd and indescribable as the feeling of being shocked by an outlet, found its way into his hand and he quickly removed it as if peeling off a bandage. Now brought to his senses and completely focused, the boy stared at his hand in awe. A wave of thick black smoke unraveled in his palm and wisped away into the air above. What was that? the boy thought, puzzled. The left side of my face . . . is there something on it? He placed a hand on the right side of his face, confirming that it was only the west flank that caused that strange feeling. He closes his right eye to examine the left side of his nose. It is then that he discovered a clue: the left side of his nose is pure black. Is the whole left side of my face like that? he pondered. Questions continued to be made note of, the growing pile of inquiry daunting yet inexplicably exciting. 

A flash of color slashed through every concurrent thought, a streak of candy red striking in its vibrance. As contrasted to the backdrop, the spray appeared surreal. An intense pain tore through the boy’s arm, catching him and allowing him to realize the urgency of this sudden occurrence. He stumbled and grasped his aching appendage, his vision blurring. A shine calls his attention to a long, thin sabre and its carrier, a dark humanoid figure of ugly moth-like wings and crimson irises. The desaturated pink of the being’s tongue made contact with the bright red fluid and claimed a portion. Although a harsh ringing pervaded the boy’s hearing, the assailant’s practiced musings shot crisply through: “A Newdead? Fresh meat.”

An instinctual backwards duck saved the boy from a slit stomach, the silver flying across his vision like a screen wipe. He staggered to regain bipedal balance before the next slice cut the air. The violence of the wind preceding the blade’s following hack startled the boy forward and onto his running feet. A roar of playful malice bellowed behind him - something to the likes of “get back here!” - but the boy was too entranced on the ground ducking under his feet to distinguish the phonetic intricacies as he fled. A gust of wind crashes against the child’s spine, throwing him tumbling to his solar plexus, to his spine, to his chest, and then once more to his spine. A turn of his eyes reveals the moth man laughing almost cartoonishly as he sauntered over in glee. “It’s been a while since I’ve been allowed to take out my frustration on something,” he chuckled. “These past few Turns have been bliss.” He readied his sword while the boy rose meekly yet determined to escape. A one second survey of left and right granted the boy the knowledge of the red expanse leftward and jagged wall of stone roughly twenty meters rightward and thirty forward. Crystalline tree-like structures of shimmering violet gems and unearthly branches of unsaturated purple dot the land, the nearest one in jumping range. The boy took the offer and put it between him and his attacker. An expected horizontal slice tore a few crystals from their branches and the glimmering projectiles crashed into the ground, the kid’s heart racing as he shielded himself with his arms in an X-formation. Luckily the worst he suffered was a scratch to his right arm, so he pulls himself together with all his will and claims a pointed gem, thrusting it into the space in front of him with not quite the precision required for a direct hit but enough to force the gray foe to expend half a second reacting. “You think you’re smart, huh?” the moth man bellowed, now audibly annoyed. “Master tactician, huh? Well, I’ll show you just how far your Newdead brain can get you!”

Like a falcon diving to claim its prey, a form descended from the cliff-wall and collides with the moth man’s back. A piercing light penetrates his lower torso, iridescent spines encapsulating gray claws following a wave of dirty blood. Behind the appalled face of the winged being was that of a girl with dark, unkempt hair with wolf-like ears of the same color resting upon it and skin enshrouded by short, light gray fur. Her eyes were small moons, dutifully reflecting the light of the sun to relay a message to the boy: “get out of here.”As if predicting the motion, the wolf-like girl removed her claws from the moth man’s torso before he forced his blade through the hole in an effort to stab her through the hand, which ultimately failed when the girl, whom had prepared and already dislodged, forced a boot into the ground and pushed away from the sheen. She clamped down on the blade at either side with her claws, encompassed by the sharp aura. There was a speedy crack and then the tip shattered. Its shrapnel scattered about, ornamenting the shallow red. 

“Damn it!” the moth man shouted as he violently and frustratedly removed the remaining length of his sabre from his body. As if trying to catch a fly, he turned on his heel and vigorously sliced at a diagonal angle, but facing a practiced one-pace retreat it was no match for the wolf-girl’s agility. He clasped both hands and conjured a thunderous gust of wind with a flap of his mangled and disgusting wings which caught the girl off guard and made her stumble, though she quickly regained her balance. The Newdead, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Even taking the margin of the wind blast, his insufficient weight gave out and he slammed into the ground. The moth man positioned himself atop the crag and continued firing waves of pressure that crashed against the girl’s body, collapsing her movement and constricting her lungs. The boy attempted to lift the weight of the air on his shoulders, but it was no use; he crumbled to his belly. His eyes locked on the suffering fighter and he inched forward, left arm, right leg, right arm, left leg, the force of the wind against his back growing tougher and challenging the rhythm of his heartbeat as the mysterious assailant laughs mockingly. His vision blurring because of the water being forced from his sockets, he reached out meekly yet determined to the girl. He was going to help her. Or at least he wanted to believe he could. The girl, finally noticing the boy’s actions, shoots him a sharp glare. In her eyes were not desperation, nor contempt; they were the eyes of a stern parent or teacher after their kid decorates the walls with phallic hieroglyphics. She scowled briefly but did stretch her pointed fingers to meet his small hand. The moth man took notice of this. “You think you can get away with something like that? Well, I guess I’ve had my fun anyway. Dog bitch, let’s see how you like it!” He held his sword above him, preparing to descend and pierce her chest. 

But what fell instead was a wing painted with dirty blood, followed by the sabre, clattering harmlessly to the ground. The squall dissipated, leaving the two teens holding hands. The girl’s eye twitched and then she quickly withdrew from the handshake and swerved to look at their attacker. He was nowhere to be seen, but from the cliff peeked a long, friendly but hardened and unusually light face. Straight gold-blond hair framed it, cut mid-length with long sideburns almost as pronounced as the sharp canines that studded his grin. He waved dopily to the young wolf woman who stood up and brushed off her jacket made of a leather-like material which has unusual short sleeves that evaded her shoulders in favor of settling on the sides of her crossed arms. Her posture was firm, as if what she had just experienced was no more than being hit in the crossfire of a snowball fight. Her legs, which manifested aspects of wolf and human, were just bent enough to deliver an instant kick if found the need to and just stiff enough that it would take a ram from a crazed bus to move her even a millimeter. 

“He’s out cold! Good work, team!” The man above congratulated. 

“Team?” The girl said.

“That’s right! You and that boy there!”

The girl looks at the boy without moving her head more than a centimeter or two. “I really didn’t do much. And this kid? He’s just a Newdead. He was supposed to run.”

“He saved you! You shouldn’t be so harsh, Lyca.” There was not a hint of sarcasm in the ghoulish man’s voice. The boy ran his hand through his tangly paper white hair and removed as much debris as he could. He could not come up with anything to say. He had tried to save her, but it was not him who did it. It was the man. Not that the boy did not appreciate the praise; he would love to pretend he was impressively heroic.

The girl sighed and gave up the argument before it began. She knew the man was troublesome when it came to his backwards, side-to-side, up-down logic. He was probably the second most annoying guy she knew (though she suspected he would be bumped down to third if she had to put up with the Newdead any longer than walking him to the village). Speaking of which, “Hey, kid. We’re going back to Asphodel, so if you don’t want to become Reaper food, I suggest you come with us.” 

The boy shot up straight at this. “Reaper? What’s that?” The girl wasn’t listening to him; she was already scaling the rocky wall by digging into it with her aura power. Pebbles slid down to the boy’s feet, taunting him. “Wait, Miss! How am I supposed to get up there? Can I have some help?” The girl ignored him and disappeared above. A few worried seconds later, a familiar figure appeared. That is to say, the wolf girl and fanged man threw the limp body of the maniac who menaced just before. Each held a leg, and the man beckoned to the boy in a cheerfully blase fashion. The boy arched an eyebrow, but he decided to trust their better judgement. They seemed to know what they were doing in this world more so than he did. It was grimly uncomfortable, but the boy used the moth man as a ladder. His battle-torn wing had been cleanly removed, but he was still alive. The boy was on the edge of whether the moth man had ever exhibited warmth or not, but the lukewarm temperature the boy felt touching the rough gray skin was enough to unsettle him. 

“So, um,” the boy attempted to break the ice, of which amounted to about a glacier after the incident, “Could one of you please explain what’s going on?” 

“You’re dead,” the girl said flatly. She shared the weight load of the unconscious tower of a man with her companion, who was dressed in an odd combination of battle gear and formal wear. Seeing the limp face of the man who had threatened the boy’s life moments past felt surreal to him. He had been so scary but now he appeared almost peaceful; like he was finally getting a moment to rest.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought…” The boy chuckles. Somehow saying that felt odd. “But that’s okay.”

The girl eyed him like he was growing a second head. “You really are something.”

“Something quite courageous!” the fanged man chimed in, puffing his chest out in invitation for the boy to do the same. “You should be proud of what you did back there. I saw it before I got to you.” The girl scoffs, silently disagreeing. “By the way, this unsatisfiable pursuivant of mine is named Lyca, and I Fritz. We make up the current Asphodel Village Guard, or AVG if your mouth is ever weary.”

“And we’re going to Asphodel now?” The boy illuminated.

“Oh, how worldly!”

“Don’t butter the Newdead up so much.” Lyca’s eyes have a sharpness to them, the boy noticed. It fits her, he thought. Then he thought. In all this time, he had not even considered the concept of names. He knew somewhere locked in the depths of his memory that he owned one but could not for the life of him recall it.

“I can’t remember my name.”

“That’s how it is,” Fritz tells him. “You can hardly remember anything after you first get to the Afterworld. It is a tradition here to come up with your own name. I constructed mine, and so did Lyca. I won’t pressure you to come up with one now; take your time and put your heart into it.”

“Just come up with something practical,” Lyca pitches in. “Anything works, really. Just don’t be John Charles Xavier Julius the Fithteenth And Also Almighty. If you went that route of extravagance I’d have to shorten it to just Ignoramus. And then punch you for being stupid. Really, it took me ten seconds to come up with mine. I was like, oh, I’m like a kind of werewolf thing? Lyca it is I guess. See?”

The boy chuckled. “I see what you mean, but I don’t think I’m in any particular rush.” He looked at his arm and frowned. The blood was unceasing in its escape and beginning to stain the baby blue of his sweater. “Hey, um, not to alarm you guys, but I have a gaping wound that should probably be attended to, I think.”

“Suck it up,” Lyca replied immediately. The boy turned to Fritz for affirmation. 

“Yeah, my furry friend is correct on this, I’m afraid.” The boy became uneasy at this. What was going to happen to him? The sting of his gash was becoming more prominent by the second. “You shouldn’t worry too much about it though.” The boy doubted this message by any metric he could devise. “Liches can withstand more damage than humans back in the Beforeworld can. You should acclimate yourself to the sight of injury and blood and likely also death if you’re to make it through the regular grind of Afterworld existence.” 

“Liches?”

“That is what we are. Physical manifestations of your soul given form by the Afterworld. Pretty neat, I’d humbly consider.” The moth man began to stir, setting the boy on edge. Fritz slammed his head with the butt of his weapon, of which was a curious combination of axe and cleaver, returning him to the land of ducks and sheep. The boy cringed. 

Then he fainted.

“...ay”

“Ra…”

“Ray!” The boy jolted awake. 

“Jeez, quiet down!” a familiar voice barked. The boy scanned his surroundings to locate it. It was Lyca, clutching the wolf-like ears atop her head. “These ears are sensitive, you know! What was that for?” There was a fine dresser behind her with a vertical mirror sitting on top of it, joined by a few sparse items, including notes and something that appeared to be a violet-irised eyeball with wings. There was a rug covering a rectangular perimeter of the dark wooden floor, but more rugs piled carelessly in the corner of the room, each embedded with erratic scratch marks. A small makeshift hammock supported the boy’s weight. Around his arm was a bloodied bandage. There was only one door, presumably the front door, peculiarly decorated with a smaller door at the bottom. 

“A doggy door?”

“I’m over here.”

“Sorry.”

Lyca sighed. Her tone turned softer, as much as a stone can be made soft after a drop of water. “Had your first Dream I presume?”

Something snapped back to the forefront of the boy’d consciousness. “Ray…” He cought it before it falls through by materializing it through vocalization once more.

Lyca’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Ray. I get it. I guess this is where I explain Dreams, right?”

“My name…”

The wolf Lich froze. “What?”

“Ray.”

The girl became frustrated. “What am I supposed to make of what you’re saying? Could you be a little more vague? I think that would do the trick.”

The boy brought his hand to his face and studies it, as if trying to delve into the depths of his mind trying to piece together a memory from what he was seeing. He traced the creases and lines with his eyes, trying to find something hidden in the cracks. He clenched his fist and his eyes. “I’m Ray.”

“Um… that’s a good choice, I guess. Looks like you took my advice. Not sure why you have to be so theatrical about it though.”

The boy removed himself from the hammock and looked the girl in her crystalline eyes. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Stop. You’re weirding me out.”

“I’m Ray.”

“Yeah, cool.”

“No, I’M Ray! It’s my name.”

“Mhm.”

The boy paused. “I remember.”

Lyca eyed him with a look now comprised of confusion rather than ire. “Come again?”

“It’s my name. From the… Beforeworld, you guys called it? I’m sure of it.”

Lyca laughed nervously. “You really sure about that? It’s incredibly unlikely - no -  impossible for a Lich to recall their name on their first Dream. The first Dream shouldn’t even developed enough to recall any information. You should have been almost fully bereft of sensory data. It can take hundreds of years to remember your name, and by that point you’ve already moved on. Are you telling me you actually remember?”

“Yes.”

“For real?”

“Really real.”

“I…” Lyca stammered and did a funny contortion with her facial features. Then she shifted to defeat. “I’ll have to take you at your word… Ray. But this is really weird.” 

The boy shrugged and kicks off his white tennis shoes before sauntering to the mirror. Lyca scolded him not to get too comfortable, but he did not pay attention. Instead, he was transfixed by his familiar yet off kilter reflection. It was of uncanny valley, but instead of being fixed between inhuman and human it was between himself and the contradictory. His face was divided vertically at the center. On one side his warm gold eyes and soft complexion were present as had always been; on the other was an indescribable darkness, a black that knew no light, like a black hole or a 3D model before shading. Planted in the midst was a lone oviform white in place of his left eye. He did as he would to squint that eye and watched it collapse to a horizontal line. He took a breath and pushed his hand through his cloudlike hair. Then he placed a finger on the mysterious left side of his face, imitating the behavior he had performed when he first found himself in this strange world. Sure enough, a weird sting, indescribable but perhaps most analogous to a sudden shock of electricity combined with a burn, meets his hand and he is forced to pull away. A thick dark smoke leaps away from his hand and face. At least he had found some answers.

His attention shifted away from the mirror and towards Lyca, who was giving him a judgemental look. “Where is the moth guy from earlier?” he said.

Lyca, appearing to ignore him for a moment, retrieved the winged eyeball from her desk and it spurred to life atop her palm. She gazed into it deliberately and made unusual gestures with her hand in the air. Ray asked what it was. “An Eye Phone,” Lyca responded unattendedly. After a little more fiddling with the space before her, she pocketed it. “Come with me.”

“Thanks for saving me, by the way!”

“It’s my job.”

Ray felt slight disappointment after seeing Lyca exit the door like a normal person but followed her through nonetheless. As the two walked, Ray was exposed to a less than cheerful village. Gray-red tones filled the atmosphere and the architecture of the silent town featured an odd blend of styles ancient, modern, and multicultural. The “roads” were a darker tone than the rest of the terrain and there were no vehicles to be seen but there were a few bicycles. The diverse yet few Liches they crossed appeared to be in a sort of functioning stupor. They solemnly looked on and shifted by without a sound.

A thought found its way to the forefront of Ray’s mind and he asked it out loud: “Is there any way out of this place?”

“Already sick of this town?” Lyca commented. “Can’t blame you.”

“It’s not that!” Ray asserted, making waving motions with his hands. “I don’t hate it, I’m just curious. And I meant the Afterworld.”

They pass by a store with a rustic sign reading in faded Blackletter “Weapon Stop.”  Lyca stopped, dark sand brushing past her high boots. She turned and trained her laser of a pupil onto Ray’s. “What? You think you can just knock on the door to life and wait for someone to open it?”

“Who knows?” Ray positted. “There could be a doggy door.”

“You…!” Lyca placed her palm on her forehead. “There is no way. Not in an eternity. Don’t get it in your mind. It will just make you hope for the unhopeful and you will rot away in literally never ending despair.” She continued walking, the sound of her steps on the stone walkway echoing in the still air. 

“Are you lying to me?”

Perhaps unconsciously, small sparks of aura flickered and vanished at the edge of her right claws, illuminating them in a soft light. “It doesn’t matter how much time or effort, you won’t be able to. Not you. Liches like you are devoured by this world if they go that path.”

Ray lit up. “So there is a way!” 

Lyca continued to stare for a moment before turning away and continuing onward. “You’re a freak.”

The Newdead stepped forward and picked up speed to catch up. “Hey, I just wanted to know. I don’t actually have enough of a problem yet that I’d want to leave anyway.”

“You were almost killed.”

“Killed? Aren’t we already dead?”

“Freak.”

“Come on, tell me what that’s about,” Ray pressed. “Being new to this world and all, I have lots to learn and I need to get it from somewhere. You’ve been a great teacher so far!”

“Shut up.”

“Please?”

Lyca, defeated, explained: “Your soul can’t die but you’re as good as dead without a body. So please, for the love of gods, be responsible. Don’t come fruitlessly running in to ‘save’ the person whose job it is to make sure you don’t die.” She pauses. “Here we are.” 

Before them stood a monument of garish colors not unlike what one would find in a jester’s garb, a manor wide as a parking lot and that was under the real estate of another dimension. That is to say, although it may well need not to be said that compared to the cruddy atmosphere of dull shades, this structure appeared almost surreal in its potency artistic or paradoxically comprehensible incomprehensibility. There was a clarity in viewing it; a sense of solidity sparsely found in this realm of the undetermined. Was it that the vision of a craftsman gave form to the meaningless world of abstract? Or was it simply ridiculous? “Probably the latter,” Ray said aloud.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Four banners hung down from the roof, each of them displaying the same symbol yet slightly different, apparently hand drawn. It was a heart with an axe-cleaver behind it; Fritz’s. “The Asphodel Village Guard? Or AVG, if my mouth is ever weary?” Lyca nods once. “Sweet. Can I go inside?” Lyca gestures for him to stay and ascends the stairs of the elaborate porch that made up the mansion’s front yard. She reaches the door, activates her aura, shoves her claws into the door, rips it off its hinges, and discards it. “Wh-What did you do that for?!” Ray stammered.

“Oh, it’s a bit of an inside joke, I suppose one could say,” Lyca responded calmly. There were the muffled sounds of feet clambering against wood. Soon the tall, long-faced, straight blonde-haired man from earlier appeared before the two in dapper apparel. Lyca glared at him. She and Fritz engaged in an intense handshake spanning over fifty moves while Ray watched on, confused yet invested. Fritz’s mouth turned into a mischievous grin, exposing one fang. He suddenly withdrew his arms and reached from behind the visible the entrance and produced his axe-cleaver, swinging and letting it cut the air before him. Lyca bent backwards to dodge and grabbed the weapon with her aura, taking it from him and hitting him on the head with the butt. She spun it around and dropped the weapon into her hand, pointing it at the fallen Fritz. “I give!” he shouted playfully. Lyca set it back down where Fritz had it previously. He rose and steadied himself. “Welcome to my abode!” he says to the boy.

“It’s interesting,” the kid responded.

“Ah, yes, architecture and design interior and ex is a fancy of mine. Why don’t you come in?” The Newdead did. Lyca had disappeared, left to return home. The hall now before Ray was massive and open, so much so that he supposed dropping a blade of grass would cause a deafening echo. The walls were painted a slurry of unnatural colors. They were lined with doodles of varying quality and dazzled with exorbitant amounts of glitter. To the left and right thirds stood a line of large chrome-colored statues of mythological figures: Medusa, Cerberus, Quetzalcoatl, Kaguya… Ray was inexplicably familiar with all of them. To each corner of the grand hall was a flight of spiral stairs. Two went down, two up, each diagonal to its likeness. A lime green tint pervaded the room due to the light emitted by jade stones set on pedestals like torches, each inscribed with the same symbol. “Wonderful, isn’t it? Well, what should I call you in the meantime before you decide on a name?”

“My name’s Ray. I remembered it.”d

“You… Remembered?” Fritz raised an eyebrow. His confusion quickly turned to pride. “That’s wonderful! I’ve not known anylich who’ve remembered their name so swiftly. That goes to show how truly unique a specimen you are and gives me further confidence in my decision.”

“Your decision?”

A hand rose and descended forcefully, a finger pointed directly at Ray’s face. “I’m enlisting you to join my Guard.” A moment of still silence passes.

“Huh?” Ray still had to process the information he was given. Fritz retracted his gesture and smiled. 

“You don’t have to accept if you don’t wish it. In that case, you’ll be staying in my manor until we can find a place for you in the village. You’ll have a luxurious room as if of a six-star hotel and gourmet servings of afterworldly dishes until a home is found, and you will never face any more killers or monsters again, if we have any say in it. Your afterlife will not be in danger and you can live out your eternal existence in tranquility. Sounds lovely, does it not?”

Ray thought to his desperate encounter with a Reaper. He could not remember much of his past, but he was certain that event was the scariest thing he had ever experienced. He thought to the blood, the violence. He thought to the Lyca whose afterlife was nearly ended in that moment. Then he thought to the village. The sullen passersby, meandering through existence without purpose. The town that was rusted cog in the infinity mechanism, a town that could vanish and none would know. A conference of the jaded, a speck of dust in the corner. Between risk of double death and an eternity of naught… 

“I’ll join. And I’ll make this village better.”

“Of course. I knew your answer before it even left your lips. Never let that spark die.”

“I won’t.”

ETERNITY WANDER

[provincebrands]

Insight: February 14, 2017:  The Man Who Had 3,859 Rolls Royces

INSIGHT.  Ok This is a very nontraditional insight. It’s also the first and likely one of very few NSFW insights I’ll ever share.  I love metaphor.  It’s one of the most powerful ways of impressing an idea upon someone, making something memorable.  By connecting the concept you’re trying to express with a visual image or emotion, metaphors excite disparate regions in your brain and build stronger memories than facts alone or other means of narrative storytelling. Here are some articles on the importance of metaphor in effective communication.

http://centerforcoachingexcellence.com/blog/2014/7/23/leadership-conversations

http://www.peterfuda.com/2012/11/06/3-reasons-why-metaphors-are-powerful/

http://www.su.lt/bylos/mokslo_leidiniai/jmd/10_01_27/svaziene.pdf

https://www.pinterest.com/ianwthomson/visual-metaphors-in-advertising/ 

As someone who’s spent a lot of my life studying storytelling, I’ve thought a lot about metaphor and how it can be used to make something memorable.  But try as I might, I will never master metaphor like Richard Brautigan.

Richard Brautigan is my favorite author. Unfortunately he took his own life and only ever published 10 novels. I haven’t read them all but I’ve read quite a few and love everything I’ve read. Trout Fishing in America is pretty amazing if you’re looking to learn more about him. It’s just incredible.

 https://www.amazon.com/Trout-Fishing-America-Richard-Brautigan/dp/0547255276/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1487309346&sr=8-1&keywords=trout+fishing+in+america

 I’m going to paste below my favorite chapter from this book.  You don’t need to have read what comes before for this chapter to make sense. It’s really a standalone.  I think this single chapter might be my favorite work of fiction ever. That’s a bold claim. But its true. It’s just phenomenal and there’s a lot we can learn from him about metaphor.  It’s not very long – just 5 minute read or less.  But If you’re in a rush or don’t have a lot of time don’t read it now. Make a mental note and come back later tonight or when you have some time to digest. You’re going to like this. Let yourself enjoy it. The chapter is called “Sea Sea Rider”. Here is is:

SEA, SEA RIDER 

The man who owned the bookstore was not magic. He was not a 

three-legged crow on the dandelion side of the mountain. 

He was, of course, a Jew, a retired merchant seaman 

who had been torpedoed in the North Atlantic and floated 

there day after day until death did not want him. He had a 

young wife, a heart attack, a Volkswagen and a home in 

Marin County. He liked the works of George Orwell, Richard 

Aldington and Edmund Wilson. 

He learned about life at sixteen, first from Dostoevsky 

and then from the whores of New Orleans. 

The bookstore was a parking lot for used graveyards. 

Thousands of graveyards were parked in rows like cars. 

Most of the kooks were out of print, and no one wanted to 

read them any more and the people who had read the books 

had died or forgotten about them, but through the organic 

process of music the books had become virgins again. They 

wore their ancient copyrights like new maidenheads. 

I went to the bookstore in the afternoons after I got off 

work, during that terrible year of 1959. 

He had a kitchen in the back of the store and he brewed 

cups of thick Turkish coffee in a copper pan. I drank coffee 

and read old books and waited for the year to end. He had a 

small room above the kitchen. 

It looked down on the bookstore and had Chinese screens 

in front of it. The room contained a couch, a glass cabinet 

with Chinese things in it and a table and three chairs. There 

was a tiny bathroom fastened like a watch fob to the room. 

I was sitting on a stool in the bookstore one afternoon 

reading a book that was in the shape of a chalice. The book 

had clear pages like gin, and the first page in the book read: 

Billy 

the Kid 

born 

November 23, 

1859 

in 

New York 

City 

The owner of the bookstore came up to me, and put his 

arm on my shoulder and said, "Would you like to get laid?" 

His voice was very kind. 

"No, " I said. 

"You're wrong, " he said, and then without saying anything 

else, he went out in front of the bookstore, and stopped a pair 

of total strangers, a man and a woman. He talked to them for 

a few moments. I couldn't hear what he was saying. He pointed 

at me in the bookstore. The woman nodded her head and 

then the man nodded his head. 

They came into the bookstore. 

I was embarrassed. I could not leave the bookstore because 

they were entering by the only door, so I decided to go 

upstairs and go to the toilet. I got up abruptly and walked 

to the back of the bookstore and went upstairs to the bathroom, 

and they followed after me. I could hear them on the stairs. 

I waited for a long time in the bathroom and they waited 

an equally long time in the other room. They never spoke. 

When I came out of the bathroom, the woman was lying naked 

on the couch, and the man was sitting in a chair with his 

hat on his lap. 

"Don't worry about him, " the girl said. "These things 

make no difference to him. He's rich. He has 3, 859 Rolls 

Royces." The girl was very pretty and her body was like a 

clear mountain river of skin and muscle flowing over rocks 

of bone and hidden nerves. 

"Come to me, " she said. "And come inside me for we are 

Aquarius and I love you." 

I looked at the man sitting in the chair. He was not smiling 

and he did not look sad. 

I took off my shoes and all my clothes. The man did not 

say a word. 

The girl's body moved ever so slightly from side to side. 

There was nothing else I could do for my body was like 

birds sitting on a telephone wire strung out down the world, 

clouds tossing the wires carefully. 

I laid the girl. 

It was like the eternal 59th second when it becomes a minute 

and then looks kind of sheepish. 

"Good, " the girl said, and kissed me on the face. 

The man sat there without speaking or moving or sending 

out any emotion into the room. I guess he was rich and owned 

3, 859 Rolls Royces. 

Afterwards the girl got dressed and she and the man left. 

They walked down the stairs and on their way out, I heard 

him say his first words. 

"Would you like to go to Emie's for dinner?" 

"I don't know, " the girl said. "It's a little early to think 

about dinner. " 

Then I heard the door close and they were gone. I got 

dressed and went downstairs. The flesh about my body felt 

soft and relaxed like an experiment in functional background 

music. 

The owner of the bookstore was sitting at his desk behind 

the counter. "I'll tell you what happened up there, " he said, 

in a beautiful anti-three-legged-crow voice, in an anti-dandelion 

side of the mountain voice. 

"What?"I said. 

"You fought in the Spanish Civil War. You were a young 

Communist from Cleveland, Ohio. She was a painter. A New 

York Jew who was sightseeing in the Spanish Civil War as if 

it were the Mardi Gras in New Orleans being acted out by 

Greek statues. 

"She was drawing a picture of a dead anarchist when you 

met her. She asked you to stand beside the anarchist and act 

as if you had killed him. You slapped her across the face 

and said something that would be embarrassing for me to 

repeat. 

You both fell very much in love. 

"Once while you were at the front she read Anatomy of 

Melancholy and did 349 drawings of a lemon. 

"Your love for each other was mostly spiritual.Neither 

one of you performed like millionaires in bed. 

"When Barcelona fell, you and she flew to England, and 

then took a ship back to New York. Your love for each other 

remained in Spain. It was only a war love. You loved only 

yourselves, loving each other in Spain during the war. On 

the Atlantic you were different toward each other and became 

every day more and more like people lost from each other. 

"Every wave on the Atlantic was like a dead seagull dragging 

its driftwood artillery from horizon to horizon. 

"When the ship bumped up against America, you departed 

without saying anything and never saw each other again. The 

last I heard of you, you were still living in Philadelphia. " 

"That's what you think happened up there?" I said. 

"Partly, " he said. "Yes, that's part of it. " 

He took out his pipe and filled it with tobacco and lit it. 

"Do you want me to tell you what else happened up there?" 

he said. 

"Go ahead." 

"You crossed the border into Mexico, " he said. "You 

rode your horse into a small town. The people knew who 

you were and they were afraid of you. They knew you had 

killed many men with that gun you wore at your side. The 

town itself was so small that it didn't have a priest. 

"When the rurales saw you, they left the town. Tough as 

they were, they did not want to have anything to do with you. 

The rurales left. 

You became the most powerful man in town. 

You were seduced by a thirteen-year-old girl, and you 

and she lived together in an adobe hut, and practically all 

you did was make love. 

"She was slender and had long dark hair. You made love 

standing, sitting, lying on the dirt floor with pigs and chickens 

around you. The walls, the floor and even the roof of the 

hut were coated with your sperm and her come. 

"You slept on the floor at night and used your sperm for 

a pillow and her come for a blanket. 

"The people in the town were so afraid of you that they 

could do nothing. 

"After a while she started going around town without any 

clothes on, and the people of the town said that it was not a 

good thing, and when you started going around without any 

clothes, and when both of you began making love on the back 

of your horse in the middle of the zocalo, the people of the 

town became so afraid that they abandoned the town. It's 

been abandoned ever since. "People won't live there. 

"Neither of you lived to be twenty-one. It was not neces- 

sary. 

"See, I do know what happened upstairs, " he said. He 

smiled at me kindly. His eyes were like the shoelaces of a 

harpsichord. 

I thought about what happened upstairs. 

"You know what I say is the truth, " he said. "For you 

saw it with your own eyes and traveled it with your own body. 

Finish the book you were reading before you were interrupted. 

I'm glad you got laid. " 

Once resumed the pages of the book began to speed up 

and turn faster and faster until they were spinning like wheels 

in the sea.